Glass Trinity
by Renaerys
Summary: They built their kingdom from earth and fire and blood, upon fragile pillars of glass. Hashirama. Mito. Madara. Narutoverse prequel.
1. In the Beginning There Was You and Me

Glass Trinity, chapter 1: In the Beginning There Was You and Me  
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.  
Rating: T  
World: Narutoverse prequel

* * *

Salt drew stubborn tears that melted into the ocean and swept out to sea to become one with the endless blue. To see the pink and red and yellow coral formations, she would have to brave the corrosive salt and ignore the pruning at her fingertips that told her she'd been at this a little too long. But Uzumaki Mito had never been one to let such deterrents get the better of her. She smiled through her undulating red hair as a puffer fish she'd gotten too close to inflated to five times its size and frantically tried to jettison away from her on too-tiny fins. Bubbles rose and clouded her view as a laugh escaped her. She would have to surface for air.

Through dripping red tangles and salt-kissed skin, she saw him. Mito would never forget that very first time she ever laid eyes on him, so deceptively small and unimposing at the time. But the eyes betrayed him. There was fire and blood in those eyes, yet they seemed devoid of any warmth.

"Who are you," he demanded.

Mito brought a hand to her face to push the red mop from her eyes. "Mito."

He stood on the shore, the waves lapping lightly at his sandaled feet. He wore faded, mismatched armor made of boiled leather that spoke of low birth and a hard life. But the scarlet of his eyes made him look more like an otherworldly lord than some lowborn soldier. Mito bent her knees slightly to keep her balance atop the uneven water as a gentle wave passed her by.

"Mito," he repeated. "You shouldn't be here."

Mito frowned at him. "This isn't your beach."

He smirked humorlessly at her irritation. "Women these days don't know their place."

Mito clenched a bony fist. How dare he talk to her like that? He obviously didn't know who she was, not that her current attire helped much. At twelve years old Mito was no _woman, _to be sure, but she was definitely a _lady._

"And men these days forget their manners," she retorted.

The smirk faded as he scrutinized her like one would a coded message. For a moment, Mito thought perhaps she'd said too much.

"Bold words," he said, as if 'bold' and 'Mito' were mutually exclusive.

"Who do you think you are, coming out here and picking a fight?" Mito said, careful to keep any hostility out of her tone. She didn't know who this person was, and in the world they lived in the wrong words could be one's last.

"I don't fight girls," he said. "But you're..._playing _too close to our camp. I won't be responsible if something happens to you and your family raises a complaint."

Mito was about inform him that she'd been training during what precious little free time she had from her political duties for her clan's current mission—she wasn't some _child _who wasted time _playing_—when another presence interrupted them.

"Brother!" a young voice called, drawing both of their attentions.

A boy several years younger than Mito burst onto the beach and immediately drew up next to her would-be foe. He, too, was clad in mismatched, battered armor despite his obviously young age. In this world death did not play favorites, and little boys and girls were a luxury barely afforded to the wealthy few.

"Izuna, I told you to wait for me back at camp," the unnamed boy addressed his little brother.

"The general wants to speak to you. It sounded urgent."

The boy ruffled his brother's hair, an odd gesture in Mito's opinion. The simple intimacy of it contrasted starkly with his battle worn attire and previous borderline animosity toward her. She found herself smiling inwardly at the sight despite herself.

"Who's she?" the younger boy whispered in an effort to be discreet.

The mysterious boy turned back to Mito and cold crimson met stormy green once more. She held herself proudly, as if this were a small defiance in itself. Even clad only in a soaked fisher girl's dress and rope belt, she did not want to appear weak and frail before this boy for reasons she could not name.

He took in the sight of her for a moment, observing how she balanced on the surface of the water with the aid of chakra. Clearly, she was trained in the ninja arts to some meager extent. He didn't know who she was—probably just some fisherman's daughter of a seaside clan—and she was obviously no threat. Most people he encountered were trained in chakra manipulation in some rudimentary capacity at least. In this world, only the strong survived.

Mito's eyes widened when the searing red melted to charcoal grey. He looked younger all of a sudden, and she found herself wondering if they were of an age. With a final tilt of his head in her direction, he turned to leave with Izuna.

"Wait!" she called out.

Why she had called out, Mito would never know. She ran across the waves toward the two of them as the unnamed boy turned once more to regard her with barely concealed annoyance. Izuna just watched her with a wrinkled nose that spoke of his confusion.

Mito drew up to them, still dripping chilled sea water as she peered up at the boy with winter in his eyes. "What's your name?"

He didn't answer, but Izuna did. "Madara is my older brother," he said proudly, as if this were some great accomplishment rather than a chance of kinship.

"Madara," Mito repeated.

"_Uchiha_ Madara," he corrected her, as if 'Madara' alone was not enough for him.

"Brother, the elders are waiting," Izuna said, tugging on Madara's hand.

Madara nodded to his younger brother and started to walk away. At the edge of the woods where the rocky shore gave way to greenery he turned one last time to regard her askance, but he said nothing. Madara and Izuna disappeared then and Mito was alone on the beach. The sky was overcast, and she figured it would storm later.

"Uchiha Madara," she repeated his name. It had a smooth ring to it, like polished ebony.

She decided to return to her father's quarters earlier than planned. Offensive or no, Mito did not want to wait around for any other Uchiha shinobi to come sniffing around and try to kill her.

* * *

The next time she saw him he was waiting for her.

"I told you to stay away from here," he said, although he didn't sound angry; just cold and indifferent.

"And I told you this isn't your beach," Mito reminded him as she approached cautiously.

He was seated on a boulder sharpening a dagger with a whetstone. The scraping sound was oddly comforting to Mito's ears, rhythmic like the lull of the waves. Madara held up the weapon, and it gleamed in the morning sunlight.

"Now who's picking a fight?" he said as he examined his blade.

"I only come here to work on my sealing techniques when I'm not busy." To prove her point, she picked up a small white seashell and held it out for him to see.

Madara watched her with unreadable, dark eyes. "Fuinjutsu?"

Mito cracked a smile at what could have been construed as mild interest in his voice. To prove her point, she motioned to the dagger he held. "Let me show you."

Madara looked like the last thing he wanted to do was hand over his weapon, but decided she was no threat anyway. She was just some fisherman's daughter, after all. "Don't cut yourself."

Mito accepted the short blade by the hilt. "I'll return it when I'm finished."

Madara opened his mouth to say something to that, but Mito ignored him and performed a round of practiced hand seals. Swirling black calligraphy danced across the dagger in one hand as the small seashell glowed blue in her other hand. The dagger melted before their eyes until only the black markings were left. They floated off of Mito's palm and were sucked inside the seashell. After only a moment, the shell lost its ethereal glow.

"Here," Mito said, holding out the shell for him to take. "You can have it back now."

Madara blinked at the offered shell before looking back at her with a look that said 'seriously?'. He took the shell.

"Who are you?" he asked as he examined the shell.

Mito got the feeling that there was a right answer to this question. The way he glared at the shell told her that he no longer underestimated her. Shinobi versed in sealing techniques were fairly rare.

"I'm Mito," she said, grinning. "The girl who exceeded your expectations. Who are you?"

He looked up at her, newly activated Sharingan gleaming. Something in the way he looked at her made her feel exposed, like she could not hide from him no matter how far she ran.

"I'm the boy who could have killed you."

Years and years later, when Mito looked back on these precious moments in time before everything crashed and broke and went up in flames, she would know the truth of his words. Madara would always, always be the boy who could have killed her.

But he didn't.

* * *

"Keep your wrist steady."

Mito tried concentrating on doing just that, but she knew this was a fruitless effort. Her mind was elsewhere as she thought about the earlier conversation with the feudal lord.

"Father," she said, pausing from her calligraphy. "Will the feudal lord really set aside the land you requested?"

The feudal lord commanded a vast stretch of land in this part of the world from the edge of the sea and stretching hundreds of miles inland. He had a large army of samurai warriors to defend and patrol the land, collecting taxes from whomever happened to be living there. Of course, the feudal lord had only claimed this land a mere three decades ago when he invaded with his army from the far west. The people previously settled here woke up one morning to find that all of a sudden they had a liege lord to whom they owed taxes if they expected to continue living and working on the land.

Mito didn't like the idea of such an unwarranted invasion against common folk without the means to properly defend themselves, but this was reality. The strong conquered the weak, and those who fought back were met with violence and death. That is, unless the would-be conquered had the firepower to resist effectively.

"Yes, princess," came her father's reply. "He understands that the benefit of creating a sedentary settlement populated by a shinobi clan would be to his benefit in the long run."

Uzumaki Ensui scraped his brush across Mito's ink block and proceeded to trace over the sweeping lines she'd made on her scroll. _Up, down, loop to the left, down again..._

"But something like this hasn't been done before. Shinobi don't stay in one place," Mito said as she studied her father's steady brush strokes.

"Just because there is no precedent does not make something inherently wrong," he said. "And in exchange for land, the feudal lord has the right to call upon our shinobi for their services when necessary."

"For a fee," Mito added. She had personally reminded her father to make the case for compensation. He had always been a little too generous, if the whispers among the soldiers were to be believed.

"Yes, for a fee. But a reasonable fee," Ensui said. "It will be the start of a new era," he added. "Shinobi have known only the nomadic life of wanderers, constantly searching for new prospects, better pay, and fresh blood. Our kind have never had the means to sustain life without working for and relying upon others. It works well enough for the larger clans, but our small numbers are our weakness. With this, we will till our own land and build our own houses. We can sell our wares in addition to our services. The Whirlpool Village will be a safe haven for our family's farmers and merchants as well as a home base for our shinobi forces."

"But this village will put us on the map. We'll be open to invasion by an enemy clan, and we won't be able to hide," Mito said as she swept her brush across the scroll, this time much more satisfied with the smoothness of her strokes.

"That's why we must seek a positive alliance with the feudal lord and his vassals. The sun may evaporate a single drop of rain, but it stands no chance against a mighty ocean."

Mito frowned at her calligraphy. Usually she found the art to be relaxing, but today she felt that her time might be better spent in the library. The Uzumaki clan was notoriously adept at fuinjutsu, and Mito had found that she had a gift for it at an early age. Their clan was small, but they knew their trade well.

"It makes sense, father. I'm looking forward to having a place to call 'home' for once. I think it'll put everyone's minds at ease to settle down. But I still worry about other shinobi and what they might do."

Ensui smiled knowingly at his only daughter. Truly, she was precocious beyond her mere twelve years. She had to be—as the daughter of the current clan leader's regent, her future development as a woman was of supreme importance. Ensui predicted that he would have a fine selection of potential husbands for her, which was more than any father could ask for a highborn daughter. She would play an integral part in the future Whirlpool Village's political and military advancement.

Still, he lamented at times that she had not been born male. With her extraordinary gift for their clan's fuinjutsu and her sharp analytical mind, she could have made an excellent strategist and military leader. Ensui could only hope that her sons would inherit her admirable qualities. This alone was reason enough to allow Mito to study and train more than the other women of their clan.

"The Uzumaki clan has long prided itself on its neutrality. We're not warmongers and never will be. Our sealing techniques are not usually meant for death and destruction on the battlefield. And you know that shinobi rarely act without commission. The chances of an unprovoked hostile attack from another family against us are low."

Mito set down her brush and surveyed the scroll before her without really seeing it. Her thoughts brought her back to her time spent at the rock beach where she'd encountered that Uchiha boy.

"The Uchiha clan could wipe us out," she said quietly. "My history books praise their valor and cunning in war and the illusory power of their bloodline limit."

"The Uchiha clan is relatively small. Their Sharingan is formidable, but they have no reason to consider us their enemy. We don't typically accept missions that would directly pit us against them."

"I met one the other day," Mito found herself saying. She'd neglected to tell her father about Madara and Izuna not because she was afraid of his reaction, but because the political affairs with the feudal lord and the negotiations that stretched into the wee hours of the morning for the past few days had made her all but forget about the encounter.

"An Uchiha?" her father said, sounding mildly surprised. "I did hear that some are stationed here currently on a mission for the feudal lord. Still, they don't have a habit of socializing with non-Uchiha unless the matter is a business concern."

"He was just a boy, maybe my age. He had his little brother with him," Mito said. "He looked like a lowborn soldier."

Ensui sighed. "The Uchiha are a clan who structure themselves around a rigid social and military hierarchy with little room for advancement. Their class and station depend almost entirely upon their birth. Civilians and those who fail to activate the Sharingan are disallowed to bear the Uchiha clan name. It's an unforgiving system, but it's effective."

Mito raised a hand to her lips and and tapped as she thought about that. "Birth doesn't necessarily determine strength or skill."

"That's true, but the Uchiha are an old, proud family. Tradition is as natural to them as death. These things don't change."

Mito was unsettled by that thought. In the Uzumaki clan, as in most ninja families, birth was an important indicator of status and future potential. As the daughter of the regent clan head, she was held to certain expectations. But the Uzumaki also believed that the nature of shinobi was to work hard and rise above the previous generation. Even a lowly serf could fight shoulder to shoulder with the son of a noble if he had the talent and the training. If what her father said was true, then Izuna and Madara would forever be at the bottom looking up through the glass ceiling.

She wasn't personally bothered by this; she didn't even know them. But Madara's blood red eyes spoke of a power roiling beneath the surface just waiting to be unleashed. Those were not the eyes of a commoner. She wondered if he knew that, too.

"Come, princess," Ensui said, standing. "You need to dress for tonight's feast. The feudal lord will be honoring us, and I expect you to set an example for the other women."

Mito caught herself before making a face. Her father meant well and she was proud that he trusted her enough to represent the Uzumaki clan at important political events, but she'd never felt entirely comfortable with the undertone of these things. At twelve, it wasn't something she needed to concern herself with too much; most men did not look at children. But one day they would. One day she would be a woman, a true lady of the Uzumaki clan. A prize to be won.

It was her duty as a woman, and it tore her up inside.

"Yes, father," she said.

* * *

The elegant kimono was a beautiful cream color fastened about her waist with a thick, forest green obi. Prickly holly leaves and blood red berries the same shade as Mito's hair decorated the bodice in winding patterns, and tiny blue birds danced across the fabric as if frozen in mid-flight. The garment was exquisite, something fit for royalty, but Mito felt awkward under the weight of it. She was a spindly girl with no curves and too many angles. Her cousins always poked fun at her for being too skinny no matter how much she ate, which made her angry. It wasn't _her _fault that she was so scrawny. The kimono hid her body well, though, and only her childlike face betrayed her extreme youth.

"Please hold still, my lady," her handmaiden said as she attempted to brush the tangles out of Mito's short hair.

"Ow," Mito said, biting her lip. She wondered if the attendant had ripped out a chunk of hair and left a bald spot. The thought made her want to laugh despite the pain. A princess with a bald spot? The feudal lord would have a fit!

"There we are," the handmaiden said as the brush ran smoothly through her chin length locks. "Let's pin it back a bit so we can see that pretty face of yours."

Mito wanted to protest that she could care less about what her face looked like, but she refrained. Her father would want her to look nice on an important occasion, and she was not one to disappoint him. Resigned, she allowed the handmaiden to secure her bangs with three yellow clips. The rest was too short to style in any way, so it was left hanging just past her ears.

"There, all done! Would you like to look in the mirror?"

"No thank you. I'm sure it looks fine," Mito said politely. "Please inform my father that I'm ready."

The handmaiden bowed low and excused herself. An hour later, Mito found herself being lead to the great banquet hall in the feudal lord's looming castle. She hadn't been in here before, but decorum reminded her to keep her face serene and composed even though on the inside she was amazed at the lavish setup. Long tables stretched from one end of the great room to the other, leaving only a red carpeted stone walkway down the center about two bodies wide. As Mito walked down it, she tried to concentrate on not tripping over her feet on the uneven floor while keeping her posture straight. Shinobi, lesser leal lords, and their various retainers and vassals already sat at the long tables. They rose as the whole procession, comprised of the feudal lord and his guests, made their way past.

Ensui, dressed in his full combat armor, walked just ahead of Mito with a small boy next to him. As his deceased elder brother's only living child, the boy was next in line to lead the clan. But he was only four years old and unfit to lead anyone for many years, so leadership had passed to Ensui as regent for the time being.

Several high ranking shinobi passed behind them—Ensui's personal guard—followed by Mito and her own guard.

"You look very nice tonight, my lady. Like a princess."

The man whose arm she held—Satto, the general of Ensui's shinobi forces—smiled warmly at her. He was an older man, older than her father, but he had crow's feet from smiling too much. Mito liked that about him. The Uzumaki were not known as an all-out combative powerhouse, but even fuinjutsu had its violent side. This man headed the offensive forces in the rare cases in which the Uzumaki clan clashed with another hired clan.

"Thank you, General," Mito replied. Unlike the handmaidens and other members of her clan who felt it necessary to comment on her looks and attire out of obligation, she knew the general meant it as a genuine compliment. After all, he was always pestering her about how bony she was. If she wanted to be a fierce warrior, and she did, she would have to beef up a bit. The general, unlike her father, wanted to train her actively as a kunoichi.

He smiled again and walked her forward. They passed by nameless faces for what seemed like far longer than it probably was. Mito kept her eyes steadfastly ahead. It would be a long night, and the last thing she wanted was a distraction to let her mind wander from the important, though tiresome, ritual of dining with the person on whom the future of her clan depended. She would have to be on her best behavior. Finally arriving at the dais at the end of the great hall, Mito took a seat on a cushion behind a low table. She left her shoes at the foot of the dais and folded her legs beneath her. Grey-green eyes looked up and stared into the distance as the feudal lord began to speak.

"Welcome, my honored guests. It is my great pleasure to feast you all tonight. I would like to take this moment to acknowledge Uzumaki Ensui, my guest of honor for the evening. We have come to a mutually beneficial agreement, and I am thrilled to announce that construction of this great country's first permanent shinobi settlement will begin on the morrow." Turning to her father, the feudal lord made a swishing sound under the layered silk and samite he wore to toast to the agreement.

"Thank you, my lord, but it is I who should be expressing my deepest gratitude to you. I am confident that this is the start of a long and prosperous relationship between us," Ensui said.

"Ah yes, very prosperous indeed. I am sure our mutual benefits will continue far into the future, especially with such an intelligent young lady for your daughter," he said, turning to Mito then. "Uzumaki Mito."

The crowd of guests took this as their cue to sit down and await the night's meals and festivities. Mito smiled and allowed the feudal lord to kiss her hand, but on the inside she wished she could throw her wine in his face. It was always the same story with these noble types. The men used every means to outwit and manipulate each other, while feasts and balls and tournaments sparkled so brightly that they blinded everyone from the operations happening under the table. Today, two men might dine and be merry; tomorrow, they may hire shinobi forces to pillage each other's strongholds and make off with unwed daughters. The entire system was a farce, but Ensui had drilled into her from a young age that the system could not be beaten; it could only be navigated. And so, Mito vowed that she would learn to navigate it better than the vilest lords around.

"May I pour you more wine, my lord?" Mito said, indicating the feudal lord's half-empty goblet.

He seemed quite pleased by this prospect, as Mito knew he would be. "Such an obedient child," he said.

Mito pulled the heavy sleeve of her kimono back a bit so as not to splash any wine on it and filled the feudal lord's cup. He took a drink and all but forgot about her, which was just fine with Mito. The food picked that time to arrive and she could not have been more grateful for the reprieve.

Sometime just before dessert was brought out and while Ensui occupied the feudal lord's attention with talk of infrastructure, Mito let her eyes wander a bit. The long tables were filled with people, mostly men from the looks of it. The serving girls and boys bustled about between tables retrieving dirty dishes and replacing them with new ones, refilling wine cups, and avoiding grabby hands against their rears. Some succeeded, others did not. Mito sometimes wished she were a man instead of a woman, but at least she had the best shot going for her as a woman of high birth. If any man tried to grope her the way they did those poor serving girls, he would have a small army to answer to.

She let her eyes wander, but of course there were no familiar faces to be seen in the crowd. She thought about Madara and his little brother and wondered if they were somewhere amongst the crowd below. There were definitely Uchiha shinobi dining here now—their red and white fan insignia was hard to overlook—but Mito knew this was no place for lowly soldiers. She gave up her search. It was times like these she wished she had a sibling of her own.

After nearly four hours of feasting, drinking, dancing, and general merry-making, Mito detected that the banquet was coming to an end. There would certainly be more drinking and dancing well into the night, but the formalities were coming to a close and she would soon be dismissed.

"Princess, why don't you retire early?" her father's voice called to her.

Mito turned and met his eyes. He'd had a bit to drink, but not too much. Her father had always been a cautious man. She smiled gratefully.

"Yes, thank you, father. Please excuse me," she said as a handmaiden moved to help her stand.

Mito wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and stretch out the kinks in her legs after long hours of sitting and looking elegant. She felt like an act in a circus show. It was queer how people insisted on formalities, yet complained of them constantly. Why have them in the first place?

She smoothed the front of her rich kimono as she made her way to a door behind the dais. The feudal lord had at least had the foresight to set up a back exit so as not to force the noble ladies to navigate the drunken crowd of guests on their way out. She slipped away discreetly and made her way back to her chambers.

When she was finally alone in her temporary room, Mito undressed and left the kimono in a messy heap for the handmaidens to retrieve later. She pulled on her pajamas and retrieved a thick tome from the closet. It was a comprehensive text about the properties of various seals and how to place them, everything from a simple inanimate object to more complex living organisms. The tome had been passed down through her family for generations, with each inheritor adding to it in his own style of handwriting. Mito loved the personalized history of it; she felt like she'd inherited the spirit of her ancestors' strength to get her through even the harshest of trials. She'd read it through five times already, but she hadn't quite memorized all the nuanced techniques. More importantly, she needed to drill herself on the theory behind the sealings until it was second nature. It was a necessary step before she could hope to create her own complex seals for anything and everything under the sun.

Smiling, Mito opened the book to the earmarked page and immersed herself in a world decidedly more enthralling than opulent feasts and drunken warlords.

* * *

"You lied."

Mito nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of someone's voice behind her. She spun around and came face to face with a boy she secretly hoped she would meet here again.

"Madara," she breathed.

His eyes were their normal charcoal color but he looked a bit haggard, as if he'd been fighting recently. Once again, he wore his full set of worn leather amor over a navy blue gi.

"You're not who you said you were."

They were back at the beach where she'd first met him, but this time her fisher's dress was dry and her hair was not quite the rat's nest it usually was when she was left to her own devices. Seawater tickled her toes as a gentle wave lapped at the shore.

"My name is Mito, just like I told you," she argued.

"_Uzumaki _Mito; the princess of the Uzumaki clan." He took a moment to look her up and down. "You were dressed as befits your station last night."

Mito's eyes widened. "You were there? I looked, but I didn't see you."

"You looked for me?"

Mito bit the inside of her cheek, uncharacteristically embarrassed. "Just a little bit. I figured you wouldn't be there since it was a formal dinner."

He studied her critically, and once again Mito wondered if she'd said too much. Could she possibly have offended him?

"Ah, I'm just a lowly soldier," he said, turning away from her slightly to look out to sea. "But I won't be like this forever."

A sea breeze blew his spiky black hair, and Mito wondered why she hadn't really noticed it before. He was definitely close to her age, she was sure of it, but the high cheekbones and firmly-set jawline gave him an air of nobility that defied his birth. It was no wonder she'd thought him older than her with his Sharingan activated. If she'd cared much for boys, Mito wondered if she would find him attractive.

"I'm sorry I didn't give my clan name," she said. "I didn't think it was important."

"A man's name is his identity; it's everything."

"I'm not a man," she quipped.

He turned to look at her then. "No, you're not, but you're the daughter of a regent clan head. ...Though you could learn to dress more like one."

Something about him intrigued her. He looked her in the eye as he spoke to her, the way her father or the general did. Most people kept their eyes downcast out of respect, but he held no such reservations. And even after he'd revealed that he knew who she really was, he didn't seem to look at her any differently than he had before. There was confidence there, but there was no disdain. She felt a bit more like a person in his eyes rather than a chinadoll.

"What do you mean that you won't be like this forever?" she asked.

"One day, I'll lead the Uchiha clan. Together, Izuna and I will reinvent them."

This was unexpected. "My father told me that the Uchiha clan is built upon a system of social hierarchy that makes upward mobility pretty much impossible," Mito said. "Is that true?"

"It's traditionally true, but I'll be the one to change that."

"Traditions are meant to endure the test of time. That kind of thing is hard to change."

If he was angry he didn't let on. In fact, he seemed empowered by her words. "I'm stronger than some dusty tradition, and I'll keep getting stronger. The Uchiha respect power and nothing else. Izuna and I will take control from those decrepit elders and they won't be able to stop us. Nothing's impossible for an Uchiha."

Mito smiled a genuine smile at him. His words made her want to believe that somewhere in this wretched, war-torn world of political schemes and petty border disputes, there was a higher, noble ideal worth fighting for.

"I believe you."

At the sight of her smile, he did look a bit put off. "It's not a question of faith. I'll accomplish my goal because I'm good enough."

"It's that kind of attitude that inspires faith in others."

He stayed silent for a moment and they stared at each other, she in the bedraggled fisher dress looking like a castaway and he in his second-hand boiled leather. The sea breeze rushed them and took their breath away.

_Something about you..._

"Come find me when you've accomplished your goal," Mito said before her courage left her. "I'd like to congratulate you."

He looked genuinely surprised, even more so than when she'd sealed his knife in the seashell. A crashing wave sent sea spray into their faces and he turned to gaze out over the distant horizon.

"Ah. Until then, Princess."

* * *

**Story Notes: **This is going to skip around just a bit in the beginning as I establish backstories for when the founders all meet. I ask that you remember this: No character starts out "good" or "evil," nor does any character necessarily grow up with the personality we see in adulthood. Before anyone cries OOC for any character in this fic, please keep that in mind. People grow and change based on the hand life deals, and that is what I want to show in this fic. By the end, my goal is to have established and reasoned the current canon personalities (as we know them) through the experiences these characters have.

This is something I've been working on for over a year now, and I've been debating when to start posting. Given the recent chapters, I'd say now is as good a time as any. I don't plan on updating this super frequently, since the chapters are some of my longest and very intricate in terms of plot. Please be patient with me. I think this is going to be (hopefully) the best thing I've written to date. Any questions, you know the drill. I'm happy to answer any and all logged-in reviews or PMs.

As always, reviews are so much love. And ya'll know how much I freaking love the founders.


	2. Brothers

Glass Trinity, chapter 2: Brothers  
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

* * *

A six-year-old boy with dark hair and smoldering eyes glared hard and long at the three taller boys snickering down at him. He was the only thing standing between the bullies and his defenseless four-year-old brother. From an early age, Madara had learned that the Uchiha responded only to power and force. The strong trampled the weak with little remorse. If anything, the weak deserved punishment by virtue of being an embarrassment to the clan. For an Uchiha, the options were to succeed or die trying; there was no middle ground.

"Run and cry to your mama like a little girl," one of the older boys taunted.

"Leave my brother alone," Madara said with more steel in his voice than any six-year-old should ever be allowed to possess.

"What are you gonna do about it?" said another boy.

"I'm warning you," Madara said as he felt Izuna tug on the frayed hem of his shirt.

"Brother," Izuna whispered. "I wanna go home."

The older boys heard him. "I don't think so, not until you two runts learn your place. You're no true Uchiha."

The other two boys guffawed at their friend's words. "Yeah, he's just some dead soldier's bastard with no talent and a whore for a mo—"

The boy did not finish his sentence. Madara lunged at him with lightning precision and shoved him to the ground before he could stop to think about what he was doing. One moment the boy was running his mouth and the next he had a kunai embedded to the hilt in his chest. Madara's eyes burned red like the blood spurting from the wounded boy's lesion—he'd severed the Aorta. Somewhere behind him, Izuna whimpered at the grisly sight.

"I'm more Uchiha than you'll ever be," Madara hissed as the bully convulsed beneath him, choking on his last breaths and dying from exsanguination in a matter of seconds.

"S-Sharingan," one of the remaining boys gasped. "He's got the Sharingan!"

"Kaito!" the other boy shouted as he fell to his knees and stared in desperation at his fallen friend.

"I'll kill you too if you ever hurt Izuna again," Madara said, pushing himself off the ground. Now that he had a view of the body, he had to clench his bloody fists to keep them from shaking. He tried not to think about the smell of raw meat or the sticky feeling between his fingers.

"Let's get out of here, Hikaku," the first boy said.

The kneeling boy—Hikaku—looked like he wanted to fight Madara to avenge his dead friend, but Madara glared at him through the red haze of the strongest doujutsu in existence. Hikaku swallowed, knowing he was no match for the younger boy; he hadn't activated his own Sharingan yet despite being a year older than Madara.

"Just...leave, and I'll forget about this," Madara said as calmly as he could muster.

Hikaku slowly got to his feet and backed away, but then stopped and hesitated. He looked between the very dead Kaito and Madara hiding a stricken Izuna behind him. "It won't happen again," he said soberly.

Madara blinked at the older boy but said nothing, not trusting his voice to remain steady. He didn't stop Hikaku and his friend when they scampered off. Izuna's soft tugging on his shirt helped fizzle his anger somewhat, and the Sharingan faded. Secretly relieved that his opponents had decided to back off, Madara looked down at his short younger brother with dark eyes, hoping he didn't appear as shaken as he felt.

"Red," Izuna said through his unshed tears. "You got the red eyes!"

Madara smiled faintly. It would not do to scold him for crying when no one was around to see it but him. It would be their little secret. "I've been practicing. You should too if you want to catch up."

Izuna nodded enthusiastically and wiped the excess tears away. "I wanna be just like you!"

Madara looked back at Kaito's body. He knew he wouldn't be punished for the kill—the Uchiha were mired in death and violence and blood from the day they were born. If anything, he would be commended for activating the Sharingan at an unprecedented age. But this was his first kill, and he felt a bit put off by how easy it had been.

_A one-hit kill._

Kaito's flesh had opened up like butter under a dinner knife. It was just as the training master had told him. He went for a major artery and hit his target with little effort given the element of surprise, though somehow it felt different to do it for real than simply to hear someone explain the mechanics behind it. But he would not let Izuna pick up on his inner thoughts. He had a responsibility as the eldest to set an example for the boy, and he would make sure to present a strong front before him.

"Let's go home. Mother will be waiting with dinner."

* * *

Shiori was a kind woman. She was one of the few people Madara had ever known in his life who had genuinely wished to help him without asking for anything in return. She sacrificed everything for her two young sons because they were all she had.

"Take those off. I'll need to wash them," she told Madara when she saw his clothing covered in Kaito's blood.

She never asked how it got there or why. She just washed his shirt with her weathered hands and smiled brightly at him.

"Mama, Brother got the red eyes!" Izuna cheered from his spot at the wooden kitchen table, waving enthusiastically at Madara.

Shiori stopped serving the boiled potatoes and turned to look at Madara. After a moment of shared scrutiny she said, "Madara, did you... Did you awaken the Sharingan?"

Madara set down his water glass. "Yeah."

Shiori gaped at her son for a moment before covering her mouth with her hands. She then stood abruptly, moving to the cupboard and extracting a brown paper package.

"I was saving this for your birthday, but this is a more appropriate occasion, I think," she said, returning to the table.

She unwrapped the parcel to reveal a meager assortment of sweets. Izuna immediately lit up and tried to grab at them, but his stubby arms were too short to reach. Madara blinked, shocked that their mother had managed to procure something like this. Sweets were exceedingly hard to come by and staunchly discouraged among the soldiers' ranks for encouraging sloth and overindulgence. He could not help the involuntary watering in his mouth at the sight of them.

"I saved up enough to buy them," Shiori said, noticing her two sons' covetous expressions, Madara's only slightly less obvious than Izuna's. "Awakening the Sharingan at such a young age," she continued, watching Madara with open admiration. "You're a true Uchiha, my son."

This snapped Madara out of his daze. "An Uchiha," he repeated.

Shiori nodded. "Now that you've awakened your father's bloodline limit, you can bear the Uchiha surname and become an active member of the shinobi clan. And Izuna will join you when he awakens his."

Izuna clapped his hands together, as if talk of awakening the Sharingan pleased him immensely. Shiori handed him a sweet, and he stuffed it in his mouth greedily. "Uchiha!" he cheered through a full mouth.

"You'll be one, too, Mother," Madara said, reaching for a sugary treat. He bit into it and savored the caramel flavor. He'd always loved sweet things.

Shiori smiled sadly at her eldest son. "Only shinobi who've awakened the bloodline limit can bear the clan name. I'm no shinobi."

"Father was."

"Yes, your father was a good man and a better shinobi." _But he wasn't my husband._

Madara did not have to guess at the words left unsaid. Official clan marriages were only allowed by arrangement, and only then between accomplished shinobi and clan nobles. Madara and Izuna's father was a lowly soldier, and their mother was merely a civilian woman. As far as the clan's rules were concerned, Madara and Izuna were bastards with tainted blood and a birthright unworthy even of a pair of diseased rodents. In a situation where tradition reigned unopposed, there seemed to be little hope for the brothers.

But Shiori had always said differently. "You boys can be anything you want to be and more. All you have to do is work hard, develop your skills, and you'll rise through the ranks."

"It's not that easy," Madara countered. "There are rules."

"Rules can be broken," Shiori said calmly. "You two wouldn't be here if your father and I had followed the rules."

Izuna munched on another sweet, his big black eyes drifting between his stoic older brother and their mother. He sucked on his sugary fingers, making them stickier despite his intentions to clean them.

"You've already done the impossible, Madara," Shiori continued. "Now that you're a true Uchiha, the elders will have to recognize your talent. And once you make it to the top, you can make your own rules. Think of the possibilities. You can rejuvenate this tired old clan. Together, you and Izuna can accomplish anything you set your minds to."

Madara watched her with a degree of awe only a child can grasp, the last vestiges of his innocence that hadn't been flayed away under the lash of the Uchiha training regimen. "Why do you believe in us so much? I—_We _haven't done anything to deserve that kind of faith."

She just smiled knowingly at her eldest son. "It's not a question of faith. I know you'll succeed because you're my sons. You're good enough."

* * *

Shiori died barely three years later of heart disease. The Uchiha had never been skilled healers; they preferred to duke it out and die a warrior's death on the battlefield than waste away in a sick bed. The infirm were better left for dead, anyway—their needs only burdened the rest of the clan by sapping precious money and resources. Why sustain a life that is worthless?

Izuna cried that day. He was hardly seven at the time and had awoken his own Sharingan, and still he bawled like a baby. Madara did not scold him.

"This is the last time you'll ever cry, Izuna," he said instead. "From this day forward, we're men. It's time to start acting like one."

Izuna nodded, trying in vain to wipe the tears and snot from his face as thunder boomed overhead. The two of them had stayed behind with Shiori at the previous base camp in between missions. She had grown too ill to travel, and Madara knew that the time had come for her to be put out of her misery. He'd solemnly told his captain that he would be the one to end it, given Shiori's lack of a husband. She smiled proudly at him when he slid the kunai across her throat, thanking him for the clean and honorable death. He would never forget the sight of her smile just before her blood trickled over his fingers, so warm.

Izuna had watched and refrained from crying in front of their mother. Now, as the two of them stood next to the dying funeral pyre, the first drops of rain began to fall. They fell slowly and intermittently at first, but the storm picked up and soon the Uchiha brothers were drenched to the bone through their hand-me-down armor and tattered gi. It had been Izuna's idea to light a pyre for her. Only trueborn Uchiha were allowed to be cremated, but Izuna had insisted that Shiori had more Uchiha spirit than the snobbish highborn ladies of the clan, an opinion with which Madara wholeheartedly agreed.

The rain fell and they watched through blood red eyes as the small pyre smoked and hissed.

"This is the last time you cry too, Brother," Izuna said. "These eyes can see your tears through the rain."

Madara let out a humorless breath, observing as it fogged in the chill brought on by the early spring storm. The tears were all but invisible as they mixed with the rain, but they felt hot against his cheeks.

"Yeah. This is the last time."

After another moment the brothers turned to leave. They had a long journey ahead of them if they were going to catch up to the rest of the nomadic clan and outrun the worst of the storm.

"Izuna," Madara said after they'd made it a few miles in silence. "Promise me something here and now."

"Anything, Brother."

Madara hesitated for a second before continuing. "Promise me that you and I are one—on the battlefield, in the council meetings, always. Promise me that we'll take this clan together. Can I count on you?"

Izuna smiled grimly, looking much older than his barely seven years. "I'll always fight with you, until the day I die."

Madara pressed his lips into a thin line, thinking of the impossible uphill battle that lay before them in the years to come should they survive the harsh reality of being born Uchiha.

"_You'll survive, my sons, because you're strong. Together, you're invincible."_

He could almost hear the echo of his mother's dying words as they clung to him with soft shadow claws through the soaked clothing on his back. He and Izuna would survive, and together they would reinvent the noble Uchiha clan.

Together, they were invincible.

* * *

Senju Hashirama crouched behind a crumbling palisade surrounding the imposing castle, dark eyes narrowed in concentration as he scanned his surroundings. Next to him, his brother silently crept closer to report the findings from his sensory scan.

"They pushed us back at the bridge," Tobirama whispered through gritted teeth. "Father's throwing his best Douton at them, but any more power and the whole castle will fall."

Hashirama sighed. "Ten men. Ten men are holding off the entire Senju clan."

Tobirama peeked over the top of the stone barricade, taking in the sight of their father's second-in-command barking orders. Screaming could be heard from across the drawbridge. The smell of burning kerosene reached the brothers, followed by shrieks of pain that drove a spike of dread through Hashirama's heart.

"Shit," Tobirama swore. "They're using the murder holes."

Tobirama was on his feet and running toward the thick of battle before he finished his sentence. Hashirama wasn't quick enough to stop him, and thus was forced to give chase. Tobirama had always been somewhat rash in these situations.

"Suiton: Suishouha!"

A great wave of water rose up from the castle's moat and sped toward the entrance of the castle. A great roar resounded with the impact of water on stone and metal. It turned black as it mixed with the boiling oil, morphing into a viscous serum that quickly lost momentum as it became more and more tainted. Tobirama released a frustrated growl.

"Tobirama! Hashirama!"

The brothers turned at the sound of their father's raspy voice. Flanked by two bodyguards, he jogged toward them, his salt-and-pepper hair billowing behind him in a thick ponytail.

"I told you to stay out of this," he barked, pulling them both back by the collars.

"But those bastards are winning!" Tobirama hissed, his body tense with defiance.

Senju Ikema forced his two sons to the ground in a crouching position to better shield them. "Listen to me," he said in a low timbre that brooked no room for argument. "I agreed to let you two accompany me on the condition that you'd remain out of sight."

"But Father—" Tobirama protested.

"I will not see my sons dead before me!"

Hashirama stared up at their father. In his fourteen years of life, he'd never seen the man so furious. Senju Ikema was a mild tempered man who preferred to fight his battles with words rather than weapons. But today was not a day for words; they'd tried that approach already. The feudal lord who'd hired them wasn't interested in negotiating anymore. Osaka castle was to be his at all costs.

"Am I clear? Stay out of the way or I'll roast you myself," Ikema said, tightening his grip on their collars.

Tobirama looked about ready to protest, but Hashirama beat him to it. "Yes, Father."

Angry, red eyes fixed Hashirama with a look that said 'traitor.' Hashirama willed his younger brother to stay silent. Somehow, his thoughts were heard. Ikema released his sons and commanded his bodyguards to move. They obeyed without question. With one final look back at his sons, the leader of the great Senju clan took off toward the besieged castle.

Tobirama looked torn. "We have to do something."

His spiky white hair was drenched with water from his earlier attack. Hashirama looked between his younger brother and the entrance to the castle where their father had disappeared. As the eldest, he felt obligated to look out for his brother and set an example, but deep down he felt conflicted. He wanted to obey their father as any son should, but at the same time he feared the worst. They were up against a legendary alliance of shinobi, the best from a number of different clans.

"Hashirama!"

The boys turned to see Tōka, their olive-skinned cousin, running to meet them. Two years Hashirama's senior, she was directly involved in the fighting. Unlike most women her age, she was born to wield a sword, not a sewing needle. Her skill with genjutsu, while extraordinary, was of little use at the moment while the Senju forces were stuck outside the castle.

"Tōka," Hashirama acknowledged. "How bad is it?"

"There are only ten of them, but they know this castle well. It's tough to predict their movements from the outside since they all employ unique battle tactics."

"Sanada's Ten Heroes," Hashirama said, awed. "They're really something."

Tobirama kneeled down and touched the cobblestone road leading to the castle, eyes closed. After a moment's concentration, he gasped in shock.

"What's happening?" Hashirama said.

Tobirama clenched his jaw and stared in the direction of the castle gates. "It's—"

A deafening explosion went off in that moment, robbing the three Senju of their hearing and forcing them to fall to the ground for cover out of ingrained training. Hashirama's head spun, the ringing in his ears making him dizzy. After a few seconds sound returned to him slowly, as though someone was gradually raising the volume. Shouts could be heard, as well as frantic footsteps running away from the direction of the castle. Alarmed, Hashirama looked around to see what was the matter.

Their forces were retreating.

"Oh god, it can't be," Tobirama said, voice shaking.

"What happened," Hashirama demanded, whirling on his brother.

"Ikema-sama," Tōka breathed, face pallid as she feared the worst.

Hashirama didn't need her to elaborate to draw his own conclusion. Time seemed to slow down as reality sank in.

_Father..._

Hashirama prided himself on listening to others before ever speaking up and making a decision for himself. His father had always drilled into him the importance of seeking guidance and counsel from others no matter their rank.

"_You can always learn something from other people, even the stupid ones. At the very least, you can learn not to be like them."_

But right now Hashirama didn't want to listen to anyone. He didn't want to exercise caution or take a vote. He didn't want to run away like a coward while others fought the battle his father meant to win. He didn't want to let things end like this.

"I'm going in. Tobi, cover me."

He didn't wait for an answer. He just took off at full tilt toward the front entrance, his hands already forming an earth seal. Just as he drew close to the entrance, Hashirama released his chakra. Two gnarled bundles of tree roots shot forth from his palms and slammed into the stone archway. For the span of a breath, he felt iron resistance from the sturdy structure. Sure of his power, he pushed forward until the rough-hewn stone bricks whined and finally crumbled under the force of his jutsu. What began as two separate wooden spires transformed into an intricate maze of roots and branches, weaving through the stone as if it were freshly tilled dirt and tearing the entrance apart from the inside out.

In the ensuing avalanche of dust, rock, and oil, Tobirama and Tōka caught up to him.

"Hashi," Tobirama said as he surveyed the damage. "Father..."

Hashirama didn't turn to look at his brother, but he knew what was left unsaid. They would have to verify for themselves what had really happened.

"Let's go," Hashirama said, already moving forward.

They made it to the inner courtyard and were immediately pelted with arrows. It seemed the Ten Heroes had help from the castle's civilian guards. Hashirama was quick to summon a wooden wall to protect their three man group from the projectiles, his chakra flaring with adrenaline.

"Tōka!"

The brunette girl didn't need to be told twice. Acting without hesitation, she instigated a genjutsu that effectively knocked out their attackers. When the pounding sound of metal pelting wood petered out, Hashirama dismissed the wall. The entire courtyard was demolished from what he could see. Whatever bomb had gone off left little to the imagination. Bodies were strewn about, bloody and charred and all of them dead.

"No..."

Tobirama's voice drifted to him, the younger boy having left his side to examine one of the bodies. As if in a dream, Hashirama reluctantly joined his brother. It was worse than he'd expected.

"Father!"

Ikema was lying on the ground, his body battered almost beyond recognition if not for the proud Senju crest emblazoned across his viridian breastplate. His skin, the little that was exposed, had peeled off his body under the intense heat of the conflagration. He was missing an arm at the shoulder. Perhaps it had been blown clean off in the blast. Hashirama felt like he was looking down on himself as his body hovered over his fallen father and leader.

"Hashi, do something!" Tobirama shouted. "Help him!"

Without even thinking about it, Hashirama began to pour healing chakra into their unresponsive father. Normally calm and collected under duress, the onslaught of information gleaned from his medical chakra only served to jumble his thoughts. He wanted to save their father, but he didn't even know where to begin with injuries as grievous as these.

"M-My...sons..."

Shocked, the brothers and Tōka focused on the origin of the voice as fragile as the wind. Ikema was blind to the world, his eyes incinerated. His armor looked like it had fused with his blistering flesh in places. He wouldn't live much longer.

"Father," Hashirama said, his healing chakra still racing from his fingertips.

"We're not gonna let you die!" Tobirama said, tears already streaking down his cheeks.

Ikema released a rattling breath, his whole body convulsing with the effort. Never in his life had Hashirama felt so afraid.

"H-Hashi..."

"I'm here."

The sound of his son's voice seemed to lend Ikema one last burst of energy. A burned, bloody hand reached for his, and Hashirama looked down at the contact.

"Promise," Ikema wheezed.

"Anything. Tell me," Hashirama urged, his voice cracking.

"End this."

They stared at the dying leader of the Senju as they processed his last words. Tobirama was about to say something further when Ikema drew in a sharp breath, shuddered, and fell limp. Several moments passed before Hashirama realized that his healing energy was still pouring into his father. He ceased the flow of his chakra rather abruptly at that point.

_Crunch!_

The sound of earth and rock splitting directly behind the trio forced them to flee to safer ground, giving them no more time mourn their fallen leader. A powerful earth-based technique razed what was left of the courtyard as Tōka, Hashirama, and Tobirama fastened themselves to the far wall with the aid of chakra.

"Four of them. Ten o'clock," Tōka said, dark eyes narrowed.

"Damnit," Tobirama swore, his cheeks still stained with tear tracks.

Hashirama felt like time had slowed down. Somewhere deep down, he knew that he'd just witnessed his father's last moments on this earth. He also knew that it made him the new leader of the Senju, but none of that seemed to be registering as he looked down at the demolished courtyard suddenly filling with Senju forces while the Ten Heroes attacked from unknown locations.

What did register was the need for a decision to be made and a strategy to be devised.

"I want you two to rejoin the others and act as though nothing's changed. My father is still alive and fighting," Hashirama said.

Tōka and Tobirama both turned incredulous eyes on the Senju heir.

"Hashirama, I don't—" Tōka began.

"If word of this gets out now, it'll demoralize everyone," Hashirama cut her off.

The sounds of metal clashing and earth rumbling reached them from the smoking courtyard below their horizontal perch, shattering the moment and bringing them back to reality. They knew Hashirama spoke the truth, and losing this battle wasn't an option. Tōka nodded grimly and took off toward the group of Senju fighting their way deeper into the courtyard. Tobirama didn't move.

"I'm not just gonna leave you," he said, still shaken from witnessing their father's grisly death.

"You'll be safer with the group."

Any latent shock and hurt melted away to be replaced with an expression of unabashed fury as Tobirama glared daggers at his brother. "I'm _not _leaving you. You need me."

Hashirama tamped down the small flicker of anger at his brother's defiance. Clearly, he was being irrational. Hashirama could take care of himself much better when he didn't have to worry about anyone else.

"Tobi, please don't make me—"

"Make you _what? _Hold my hand? I don't know if you were awake just now, but Father's dead. _Dead, _Hashi. You're not going in there without me."

Another explosion, though not nearly as destructive as its predecessor, wracked the battleground and its combatants. The young brothers remained crouched beneath a window sill on the side of the perimeter wall, eyes darting about to make sure they weren't being targeted.

"You always do this," Tobirama hissed. "You always try to fight alone and I _hate _it. You and I are a team."

Hashirama studied his brother. His face was smudged with dirt and blood, warped by the paths of his earlier tears. Twelve was an old age in this world, no matter what their father wished. It made him sad to think that Tobirama, who hadn't even begun to shave yet, was as much a part of this as the rest of them.

But he didn't have time to argue anymore. When Tobirama set his mind to something, he pursued it with the tenacity of a raging bull. It was the reason he usually got what he wanted, many times at Hashirama's expense.

"Fine. But you defer to me, got it?"

The younger Senju nodded. "Yeah."

"Let's go."

* * *

"This is insanity. Ten men can't overpower _the_ Senju clan!"

Miyoshi Seikai worked with deadly calm to wrap a deep sword wound through his brother Isa's left flank. The blade had managed to slip through a crease in Isa's armor and slice the soft flesh beneath. Miraculously, no major organs were hit, but the rate at which Isa was losing blood was a cause for extreme worry. For all their skill and prowess, the Heroes were no medical ninja.

Sarutobi Sasuke clenched a fist as he surveyed the destroyed courtyard below. The enemy was momentarily deterred by the boiling oil traps, but an unplanned explosion had been the first step in the Heroes' undoing. When he found out who was responsible, Sasuke would deal with the culprit personally. There was no way he was about to lose this stronghold.

"Seikai," Sasuke addressed his teammate. "Stay here. I'm going to join the fighting myself."

Seikai didn't argue as he concentrated on helping his fast fading brother, whose face had taken on an unhealthy ashen pallor. Sasuke pursed his lips together at the sight, pausing. This was one of his comrades. He'd fought nearly to the death countless times with the brothers during their time serving Lord Sanada Yukimura in his various irredentist campaigns. The pay was good and the brotherhood was better. As far as Sasuke was concerned, this was the life he'd always envisioned for himself, not the life of a stuffy ninja clan noble.

"Isa," he said, kneeling before the younger man.

"T-Taichou," Isa said, his blue eyes bright with fear and fever. "It w-was an honor s-serving you."

Sasuke gritted his teeth together. "We served Lord Sanada. You and I are comrades. Equals. Fighting with you has been my honor."

Isa managed a weak smile. "T-Thank you, Taichou..."

"Go," Seikai urged, his tone devoid of emotion. "We still have a mission to complete."

Sasuke took one last glance at Seikai. Despite his exterior calm, Sasuke knew the man well enough to sense the turbulent emotions in his eyes, the mirror image of his brother's. At the very least, Sasuke could give them their privacy at such a personal time.

"Right."

Breaking into a fast jog, Sasuke made his way out of the central operations room down a stone hallway that would eventually lead outside. A wild brown ponytail fluttered behind him like a lash, smacking his shoulder as he rounded a corner. The sight on the other side made him skid to an abrupt stop.

"Kirigakure."

A lithe, almost feminine man clad from head to toe in studded leather armor stood before him. His grey eyes held an unforgiving glint, sharply contrasting with his well-kept black hair and aristocratic features. Kirigakure Saizō, Sasuke's second in command, was not easy to hit in combat.

"Sarutobi," he said, his tone hard. "We have a situation."

"I can see that," Sasuke said, his raspy, no-nonsense drawl not even phasing his partner. They'd been together long enough to read between the mannerisms.

Saizō approached him, his footsteps almost silent as he gave the appearance of floating instead of walking. A master of illusions and deception, Kirigakure Saizō was the polar opposite of Sarutobi Sasuke. The latter preferred a more hands-on approach, favoring fierce hand-to-hand combat or elemental ninjutsu, sometimes with the aid of his favorite summon, Mashira the demon fire monkey. His agility and unique fighting style had earned him the nickname "Flying Monkey" throughout the continent, although his enemies never failed to link him to the animal in a less flattering sense.

"Osaka castle is doomed to fall," Saizō said, stopping several feet away, an unreadable expression on his face. "We should withdraw while we still can."

Sasuke bared his teeth in a scowl. "The Ten Heroes never back down."

"The Ten Heroes have never faced the full might of the Senju clan."

The sounds of fierce battle drifted to them as a stray throwing dagger broke a nearby window. The smell of burning flesh and petrichor assaulted Sasuke's sensitive nose. The Senju were known as a clan of Suiton and Douton users. The fire must have been caused by the earlier unplanned explosion.

"That reminds me," Sasuke said. "Who set off that explosion?"

Saizō smiled enigmatically. It was the one he reserved for interrogations. "Accidents happen, I suppose."

Sasuke resisted the urge to shiver. He and Saizō had been through rain and shine together, and he trusted the other ninja with his life. But there were some things he'd never get used to, he supposed. Shrugging it off in favor of joining the battle like he'd previously intended, Sasuke made to pass his partner.

A hand shot out and latched onto his wrist.

"What are you doing?" Sasuke demanded.

"Are you sure you want to go out there?"

"Obviously. This is our mission. Come on, let's go."

Saizō didn't budge.

"Kirigakure?"

"I'm sorry."

Sasuke frowned, about to question his friend's odd behavior when blinding pain erupted in his back. He sucked in a breath of air as his knees rattled and gave out from under him. The image of Saizō standing before him suddenly blurred and disintegrated, replaced with the faces of some of his other comrades.

"W-What..." he choked out.

Someone leaned close to his ear from behind and whispered, "Don't say I never did anything for you."

Sasuke's eyes widened at the sound of that voice. He couldn't see Saizō, but all of a sudden he understood what had happened.

"Damn...genjutsu," he wheezed, holding in the urge to cough.

Saizō released an amused breath, warming Sasuke's neck and making him feel clammy. The knife in his back twisted and Sasuke saw stars. Somehow, he managed to hold back a yelp out of sheer willpower.

"Anayama," Saizō said. "Make sure the Miyoshi brothers don't follow us out."

Sasuke could make out a shadow bowing quickly before disappearing around the corner, mostly likely to assassinate Seikai and Isa.

"No!" he rasped. "T-Traitors..."

Saizō laughed. "Traitors? Sarutobi, you're the one who told me there's no treachery in this world, only self-interest. Or did you abandon your family for another reason?"

Sasuke felt his blood freeze at those words. He'd confided in Saizō his doubts about leaving the Sarutobi clan to pursue his own path. He'd left a widowed mother and infant sister behind, never once looking back. Escaping the oppressive influence of the greater clan meant severing all ties, even those he would have rather kept. But at the time he'd told himself it was worth it. He sent them money, but was that really enough? He'd asked Saizō that question more times than he could count.

"Bastard," he breathed, trying to ignore the personal attack. "As you s-stab me in the back."

"Semantics," Saizō said, releasing the dagger and taking a step back. "Kakei, retrieve the others. Lord Sanada is waiting."

Kakei, another member of the Ten Heroes, left to do Saizō's bidding with a curt nod. Sasuke wheezed, unable to suck in enough breath to calm his racing heart. He could feel warm blood staining the back of his gi, dribbling down his back. Saizō would not get away with this.

"W-Why?" he demanded.

"Lord Sanada knew this battle was a lost cause once the Senju were hired." He chuckled. "I told him to enlist the Uchiha, but he wanted to preserve as much of the castle as possible, not raze it to the ground. Well, not that it matters now."

_Uchiha? Senju?_

Those two had a blood war extending to the beginning of time, to believe the old storytellers. Where they were involved, death and destruction were sure to befall everyone within range. Sasuke didn't blame Sanada for declining the suggestion.

"Lord S-Sanada will...kill you," Sasuke said.

"Unlikely, seeing as he's the one who wanted you gone in the first place."

Sasuke nearly collapsed. "He ordered you to k-kill me?"

"My my, look at you, figuring things out all on your own for once."

Sasuke could not believe what he was hearing. "I thought y-you and I were—"

"Friends? Comrades?" Saizō laughed. "You ignorant fool! All this time you only saw what you wanted to see, and that tunnel vision was easy to deceive for someone like me."

Sasuke wanted to hurt him. Badly. But he also wanted to shake the man until his trusted friend returned. Where was the man he knew? The man he'd bled and broken bread with? Sorrow and guilt and unrepentant fury bubbled up within him, threatening to spill forth.

"Hm? Lost all your fight, Sarutobi?" Saizō taunted.

Growling, Sasuke blocked out the pain in his back and launched himself at his partner-turned-enemy, twisting through the air with lethal grace. He made to throw a punch at Saizō's face, but the man was ready for this with another illusory technique. Sasuke's fist passed through Saizō's face as though it were made of smoke. Almost immediately afterward, another blinding pain bloomed in his side. Saizō had gutted him with another dagger.

Sasuke fell to his knees once more, dry heaving.

"Pathetic. You'll never beat me unless you can view me as a threat," Saizō hissed, stabbing him again in his shoulder.

Sasuke grunted under the assault, collapsing to the floor in a heap of blood and metal. "Kiri...gakure..."

"I'll be going now. Let's see if the great Flying Monkey can dance his way out of this one, shall we?"

Saizō smirked at his fallen opponent and walked down the hallway, his footsteps fading with every passing second.

_I'll kill him. I swear I will._

Sasuke tried to push himself up to give chase, but only succeeded in merging with the wall in a half slump. The motion further irritated his wounds, drawing more blood and sending fresh waves of pain through his body. Removing the blades would only expedite death by exsanguination. He didn't even have the energy to summon Mashira at this rate. Sighing, he let his head lean against the stone wall behind him, trying to will away the pain.

_I can't die here like this, _he thought. _Not like this._

Unfortunately, the only people he'd trusted to help him were no longer on his side.

* * *

Hashirama and Tobirama raced through the halls of Osaka castle at full tilt. They'd encountered a number of castle guards on a mission to stab them to death with spears, but Hashirama barrelled through them with his Mokuton. For a technique that embodied the very essence of life, it was extremely effective at dealing death.

They rounded a corner and encountered a pair of enemies, but these two were different. They bore the crest of the lord Sanada Yukimura.

_The Ten Heroes._

Tobirama was quick to draw his short sword, skidding to a halt and falling into an attack stance. The enemy shinobi recognized fellow ninja in the Senju brothers and immediately put their guard up. Even children could be deadly in a world where death didn't discriminate.

"Where is your leader?" Hashirama demanded.

Tobirama stole a glance at his brother out of the corner of his eye. He had that dead look their father used to get in battle, a sign that he'd removed himself completely from the situation until all that was left was the execution of the right moves to win the battle.

"Step aside, kids, and I promise your deaths with be quick."

The Ten Heroes of Sanada were infamous all over the continent for their skill and teamwork. No one really knew the truth about why they had formed. It was rumored that Sanada forced great shinobi clans to hand over their very best on pain of extermination. Others claimed that the members were formerly wanted men guilty of murder or rape, among other serious crimes. Whatever the case, the stories all agreed on one fact: Sanada's Ten Heroes were elites who'd never lost a battle.

_Until today._

Hashirama scowled, perhaps debating what course of action to take. Tobirama took the opportunity to lunge at one of the enemy ninja, striking fast and true with this short sword. Unfortunately, the ninja he hadn't aimed for noticed the attack coming from a mile away and retaliated with a well-aimed kick, catching Tobirama in the ribs and sending him careening into the far wall.

Hashirama struck with a thick wooden spire. One of the enemies managed to leap out of the way just in time, but the other took the attack through his chest. Hashirama didn't let up. He pushed the root onward until the enemy was impaled against the wall opposite Tobirama.

"Shit, Mochizuki!"

At this point Tobirama had recovered from his previous beating and focused on the remaining enemy. To his horror, the man had just finished a round of hand seals ending with the Tiger symbol.

_No, no, no!_

Fumbling to make haste, Tobirama frantically summoned his chakra and tried to complete the staggering forty-four hand seals required for the Suiryuudan technique. He'd been practicing the pace for years since he first discovered his remarkable nature affinity, but forty-four hand seals were no easy feat.

He didn't make it in time.

"Hashi!" he yelled, little more than halfway through the required seals.

Orange fire licked at Hashirama's summoned tree roots, smoking and snapping as it crept ever closer to Hashirama himself. Just when Tobirama thought he might lose another family member, Hashirama detached himself from his roots and rolled out of the way. He didn't escape unscathed.

"Tobi, now!"

Seeing a chance, Tobirama threw himself at their opponent just as he was winding down his fire technique. The man didn't know what hit him when Tobirama drove his short sword through the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Wide green eyes stared in shock at his pint-sized attacker as Tobirama sank his blade in to the hilt and yanked it violently to the side. The enemy shinobi collapsed with a sputter and Tobirama fell with him, a pool of thick warm blood forming beneath them and soaking their armor.

A few tense seconds passed as the brothers collected themselves. Out of sheer luck aided by the element of surprise, they'd managed to take down two of Sanada's Ten Heroes and live to tell the tale. For now.

"Tobi, you okay?"

Tobirama blinked, trying to ignore the sticky feeling of the enemy's blood seeping through his armor and staining his hands where he gripped his short sword. Clenching his jaw and closing his eyes, Tobirama pulled free the short blade in one smooth movement. The squelching sound of shattered bone and muscle slipping past cold steel made him wince, and he was thankful that Hashirama couldn't see his face while his back was turned. Once the blade was free, he forced himself to his unsteady feet.

"Yeah, fine." When he caught sight of his brother, however, fear flooded his features. "Your arm—"

"—is fine," Hashirama cut him off, examining the appendage. "Nothing I can't bear with now and heal later."

Tobirama was disinclined to believe as much. There was smoke rising from the damaged arm, and blood was dripping onto the stone floor from Hashirama's fingertips. His arm guard was warped beyond recognition, and Tobirama suspected that the fire had roasted his brother's skin.

"You have to heal it," he urged. "You can't fight like that."

Hashirama looked like he wanted to protest, but the sheen of sweat covering his forehead betrayed his pain. After a moment's hesitation, he grudgingly lifted a hand to soothe the injury. Green light illuminated the now eerily silent corridor as Hashirama tried to mend his battered arm.

"Let's get going," he said after a few moments. "We have to find their leader."

Tobirama took one last glance at his brother's arm. It still looked like it had been roasted on an open-fire grill, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. Resigned, he nodded and followed Hashirama down the now cleared hall. It didn't take them long to stumble upon another body.

"A Hero," Tobirama said. "Looks like he's dead."

"No," Hashirama said, approaching the slumped man with caution. "He's breathing. Look at his chest."

Sure enough, Tobirama noticed the telltale rise and fall once he stopped to look carefully. Hashirama always had been more observant about the subtleties of life than he. "We should kill him, then."

Hashirama was about to respond to this when the unidentified Hero groaned. Feverish dark eyes half mad with pain and encroaching death shifted about in search for a target. "W-Who... Who's there?"

Hashirama crouched down before the older man, studying his injuries. Tobirama didn't know much about medical ninjutsu—he didn't have his brother's natural talent for the art—but even he could tell a soon-to-be hopeless situation when he saw it. The ninja boasted three glaring knife wounds, one of which was bleeding steadily from his left side.

"You're one of Sanada's Ten Heroes," Hashirama said. "Tell me where your leader is."

The unnamed shinobi blinked slowly, as though trying with all his might to focus on Hashirama kneeling before him. Tobirama watched from over his brother's shoulder. After a moment the man offered what could have been construed as a smirk.

"You're l-looking...at him."

Tobirama gaped at the fallen shinobi. There was no way...

"You're...Sarutobi Sasuke?" Hashirama said, clearly just as shocked as his brother.

Sasuke coughed, perhaps an attempt to laugh at them. "Not w-what you expe...expected, eh?"

"Understatement of the century," Tobirama grumbled, his hand clenching around his bloody sword.

"Who did this to you?" Hashirama demanded.

Sasuke seemed taken aback by this new line of questioning—at least, as much as he could be in his current state. For a moment, Tobirama was sure he wouldn't answer. He was fairly certain that no one else had penetrated the castle before his brother and him, but he couldn't imagine any other possibility.

"My partner," Sasuke whispered. "S-Stabbed me in the b-back. Literally." He smirked again.

_No way..._

If what Sasuke said was true—if he even _was _Sarutobi Sasuke—then that meant that the Ten Heroes of Sanada were finished.

"Hashi," Tobirama said, shooting his brother a significant look.

Hashirama acknowledged him and nodded. "I know." Turning back to Sasuke he said, "Sarutobi-san, you'll die without medical treatment. I may be able to save you, but I want something from you in return."

Sasuke looked like he hadn't heard right, and Tobirama didn't blame him. _"What? _Hashi, that's not really what I meant—"

"I want you to fight for me," Hashirama went on. "I want your loyalty. In return, I'll save your life. What do you say?"

For a tense moment, the only sound that could be heard was Sasuke's rattling breath and the din of steel from the courtyard below. Tobirama could not believe his ears. His brother never made such rash decisions like this on his own!

"Hashi, I don't—"

Hashirama shot his brother a glare that brooked no argument. Tobirama cut himself off, speechless by the look in his brother's eyes. It was the same look their father got when he'd made up his mind about something. For some inexplicable reason, Tobirama suddenly felt ashamed.

"What do you say?" Hashirama repeated, returning his attention to Sasuke.

Sasuke blinked, only half seeing the two young boys offering him an ultimatum—more like blackmail—and thinking back on his encounter with Saizō. The friend he'd trusted. His brother in arms. His greatest betrayer.

"Deal," Sasuke said. "But...I w-want revenge."

Hashirama nodded. "Fine."

Tobirama could not believe this was actually happening. Their mission was to kill this man, and yet here Hashirama was making an ally out of him! The green glow of Hashirama's medical chakra illuminated the corridor, giving it a ghostly feel as he worked to carefully remove the knives and staunch the ensuing blood flow.

"Who are you?" Sasuke said after a moment.

Hashirama looked up from his work and the two men locked gazes.

"I'm Senju Hashirama, leader of the Senju clan."

* * *

**Author's note: **Again, I'm jumping around a bit with their childhood timelines, so don't be alarmed when I turn back the clock a bit. Hashirama in an intense battle setting is serious, but I'll get to his friendlier side in the next chapter. Also, the first meeting between Madara and Hashirama is coming up (in light of 621!). For those who might be interested, Sanada's Ten Heroes are based off the original legend, and all the characters herein are based on the actual membership. This isn't the last we'll see of them in this fic. As always, any questions shoot me a PM or leave a review.


	3. The Nakano River

Glass Trinity, Chapter 3: The Nakano River  
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

* * *

Madara was exhausted. The trip to the mainland from the island cluster where the new Uzushiogakure would be was not sitting well with him; he'd never liked sea travel. Too much water. Izuna, of course, was enjoying in the journey in his own quiet way. Where Madara tended toward planning ahead, Izuna preferred to bask in the moment and recall times past. He supposed it balanced them out, among other things.

"What do you think about the new Uzumaki village?" Izuna asked as they leaned over the starboard railing of the barge. "The feudal lord seemed pretty happy about it."

Madara let his eyes drift back to the fast shrinking shores of the small island territory. "The feudal lord isn't giving up much. He handed them the island, but he controls all the land inland to the north for leagues. He gets preferential rights to their services in return."

Izuna frowned. "I dunno. They don't fight, so aren't they just taking up space? The feudal lord needs an army."

"The Uzumaki are the best fuinjutsu specialists on the continent. They're so good at locking things up that people give them their valuables to keep safe. I guess you could call them bankers."

"Why would I give them my stuff? I can fight anyone who wants to take it."

Madara glanced at his brother. The part of him that trusted no one but Izuna agreed, but the memory of Mito sealing his best tantō into a seashell with little effort was one he couldn't shake. Reaching into a pocket in his gi, he fingered the small token. "You're just thinking about money or jewels. They can do a lot more than that."

Izuna returned his brother's gaze, interest piqued. "Like what?"

"They say the Uzumaki can seal any object within another, no matter how big or small." He withdrew the seashell and held it out for Izuna to see. "That girl from the beach sealed Father's tantō into this."

Izuna squinted at the tiny shell, scanning it with his Sharingan. "No way. I can't see anything in it."

"That's the point," Madara said, pocketing the shell once more. "You know, apparently they seal people, too."

"Living people? Why would they wanna do that?"

"I can think of a few reasons to want to hide someone and make sure he's never found."

Izuna remained quiet as he digested that thought. Lapsing into silence, the brothers contented themselves with watching the waves undulate with the barge's slow journey, trying to beat it back toward the island. Eddies swirled in the distance, death traps for smaller boats and the untrained captain.

"Ya hear that?" a voice said.

Madara and Izuna turned to see one of the hired sailors, his curly hair crusted with salt and a coil of thick rope slung over one meaty shoulder. They followed his gaze to the dozens of whirlpools dotting the early morning seascape.

"Hear what?" Izuna asked.

"The roar o' the whirlpools," the sailor said. "It's a sea monster's yawnin', hear?"

"There are no sea monsters," Madara said.

The sailor guffawed, low and deep in a way that reminded Madara of the roaring whirlpools themselves. "Yer confident, boy. Y' ever been to the bottom o' the sea?"

"My brother's no liar," Izuna said, taking a step forward.

The sailor laughed again. "No liar, just young. Ya boys seen things, I can tell from the look in yer eyes. But not like this."

"Like what?" Madara said, a little curious.

"A sea monster, bigger'n that island ya come from. Got one eye dark as a stone and three tails that glow like fire."

"But there _are _no sea monsters," Izuna said.

"I seen 'im with these eyes," the sailor said. "And I tell ya, he's as real as ya two standin' here. On nights when the moon don't shine, they say he circles the islands. His tails glow brighter'n any lighthouse, but ya don't follow 'em. The ones who do don't come back."

"If they don't come back, how do you know that story?" Madara said.

The burly sailor clutched his belly as another rumble of laughter took him. "Ya boys're smart ones. Strong shinobi. But I tell ya." He leaned down as though this were some great secret he was about to impart, the look in his eyes suddenly unreadable. "In this world, it don't matter yer strength when the nightmares come a-runnin'."

Madara felt a chill run up his spine at the sailor's words, the change of demeanor throwing him off guard for a moment.

"Whatever, the Uchiha are plenty strong. We're not afraid of some make-believe sea creature," Izuna said.

The sailor laughed, all traces of his previous seriousness gone. Madara recovered and crossed his arms. These seafaring types loved to spin tales until they no longer knew fact from fiction. Everyone knew that. Perhaps he thought the stories that scared civilian children would also scare them, but they didn't. If Madara ever feared anything, it would be something grounded in reality, not among the pages of children's fables.

"Ya boys stay outta trouble, hear?" The sailor excused himself with a smile and got back to work, leaving Madara and Izuna to resume their observation of the sea.

"Hey, Madara? Do you think..."

"Don't believe everything you hear," Madara said. "Always question."

Izuna leaned his weight on the railing, dark eyes cast out to follow the motion of the eddies as they sank down, down, down to the seafloor. "It's not that, I mean, if there _were_ a sea monster, do you think the Uzumaki could seal it? Like the way they can seal people?"

Madara rested his head in an open palm, contemplating the thought. It was silly to talk about something they both knew was ludicrous, but the question was an intriguing one. He retrieved the seashell from his pocket once more and turned it over in his hand, as though all the answers lay hidden inside its tiny folds along with his father's tantō.

Mito's face flashed in his mind as clear as the day they'd met at the juncture of sea and sand. There was something about her that he couldn't quite place, but that begged to be dissected and put on a pedestal for observation. It kept her rooted in his memory, the image of a fisher girl bursting through the waves when he first saw her and the vision of her in full kimono, a princess who'd never known his struggle. She was an unsettling dichotomy of color and quiet strength about which he did not know enough.

"I guess if anyone could do it, it would be them," Madara said. "The real question would be what happens next. You can't keep a monster docile in its cage forever."

Izuna didn't respond. He had no answer to that. Waves bombarded the barge as they sailed over a whirlpool, its black center watching them with one depthless eye.

* * *

"Again."

Madara hoisted his chokutō up and assumed an offensive position. Sparring was at the heart of the Uchiha lifestyle intertwined with ninjutsu prowess. Madara had only lost a handful of times in his twelve years, which was more than could be said for most of the other boys in his age group and the one above them. The training master waited for his order to be obeyed.

Uchiha Hikaku lunged, chokutō aimed at Madara's chest as he bellowed a battle cry. Madara stayed his ground, waiting until Hikaku came into range to parry the blow at the last minute, using his opponent's momentum against him and whirling for leverage. But Hikaku was fast and a good improviser; it was what made him a tough opponent for Madara, who preferred to plan his moves ahead of time.

Instead of stumbling for lack of a target, Hikaku drove his dagger into the earth and turned around it. Madara wasn't fast enough to block the punch Hikaku aimed at his face, and he staggered backwards under the force of the stinging blow. He had no time to be stunned, however, because Hikaku lunged at him once more. Ignoring the pain, Madara swung his chokutō and winced at the clash of steel on steel.

"Madara, you've got two left feet. Next time it'll be my fist in your baby face if you don't get serious," the training master, Uchiha Gendoru, said over the clang of steel and labored breathing.

Gendoru was an old man with not a single black hair left on his head. At five foot two inches, he was not much taller than the boys he trained, but no one would ever hold it against him. He was among the most adroit swordsmen the clan had ever seen, and he'd been in the business of breaking in the green boys since time immemorial, if the rumors that circulated among the young warriors were to be believed. They said even Lord Uchiha Tajima himself could not best him in a battle of irons.

Madara landed a well-placed hit with the flat of his sword against Hikaku's thick leather armor, knocking the wind out of him and buying precious seconds. Around them the other boys looked on with rapt attention, clenched fists concealing sweets and coins from foreign lands to exchange for a bet won or lost. Seeing an opportunity to gain the advantage, Madara jabbed with his sword. Hikaku looked up and snarled, eyes now red with the Sharingan. With lightning reflexes, he whacked Madara's blade to the side with his own, the collision birthing orange sparks where the steel screamed in protest.

But two could play at that game. Madara summoned the familiar, heated chakra to his eyes, watching as the world came to life all around him in a sharpness he imagined only nocturnal predators could rival. Everything seemed to slow down. He could see the tiny beads of sweat forming upon his opponent's brow, the patch in the shoulder of his armor from a previous cut. And he could see Hikaku's blade fly toward him with every intention to kill. He could see it getting closer, and he knew he had no time to block. Abandoning his own weapon, Madara raised his hands and clapped them together around the blade in a tight embrace. He could feel the sharpness slice through the calloused flesh of his palms, calling to the blood within and coating its shiny surface with beautiful red. Grunting with the effort, he stopped the blade's momentum just as it nicked the boiled leather shielding his breastbone. For several seconds he did not breathe, not trusting Hikaku to pull back should they break their eye contact.

"Yield, boy," Gendoru said as he yanked Hikaku back by the scruff of his neck. "We're not in the killing business. Now turn off that Sharingan before I smack you."

Hikaku blinked, the moment broken, and dispelled the Uchiha bloodline limit without a fight. Madara let his bleeding hands fall to his sides, scarlet eyes never leaving his opponent.

"Madara, turn it off. Now," Gendoru said, his hand moving to the hilt of his katana.

Madara looked between the old training master and Hikaku, his breathing labored. The skirmish was over, and he'd lost. There was nothing more to it. And yet, the whispers from his audience reminded him that failure, more so than success, would follow him. This would not be forgotten, and that angered him the most. Nobody respected a failure.

"Madara," Gendoru said, now drawing his katana. "Do you want to hear it from my sword?"

Madara let his eyes fall, the chakra receding with his bloodline limit. He suddenly registered that his face ached from Hikaku's punch earlier, and his hands were shredded to ribbons. "No, sir."

Gendoru watched him for a moment, suspicious. Then he sheathed his sword and closed the distance between them. A bony hand grabbed Madara's chin in a painful grip, turning it left and right before releasing it. "You lost the battle but not the war. Stop sulking like a little girl."

Gendoru released him then and dismissed the boys for the day. Hikaku was the last to leave, but not before making the reconciliation seal as a courtesy. Madara returned it under Gendoru's watchful eye, and Hikaku said nothing at the blood that smeared his fingers. When Madara tried to leave afterwards, Gendoru stopped him.

"You have potential, more than any of the boys I've seen in all my time as training master."

Madara met the old man's gaze, not having expected that. "Sir, I—"

"Quiet down, boy. Never interrupt an old man or a beautiful woman when they're talking, you hear me?"

"…Yes, sir."

"Let this be a lesson to you. A battle lost today has no bearing on the war of tomorrow. You're good, but you fight desperation with desperation. You're too dependent on the Sharingan. I've seen men better than you lose everything because of that crutch. If you take anything from me, take that." He paused for a moment, thoughtful. "You're not like the others. There's something special about you, your brother too. But it won't mean anything if you don't learn how to fight blind. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," Madara said, this time with more confidence.

Gendoru peered at him a moment, searching for cracks in his resolve. He nodded stiffly, perhaps finding none. "Get yourself cleaned up. You're on polishing duty since you lost, and I don't want to hear any excuses."

Madara bowed and watched him go, thinking on the old man's words. It didn't matter that he relied on the Sharingan when he was better at wielding it than most of the other boys. And yet, the stinging in his palms seemed to taunt him. Maybe there was some merit to Gendoru's words, but he'd never live this failure down with the other boys, never mind that Hikaku was older and more experienced. Scowling, he stalked off to find Izuna for help bandaging his hands before tackling the boring task of polishing all the training steel in the armory. It would be another sleepless night.

* * *

The mainland so far was boring. Madara found himself with little to do but train, which occupied his time but dulled his mind. He wanted adventure, some new challenge to conquer with all the boldness pent up inside, never quite satisfied with beating on his year mates. The wounds he'd received from his recent spar with Hikaku opened up fresh as the day he'd gotten them every time he took up a sword in the arena. He wouldn't have cared much if not for the reminder of his inadequacy. It angered him, and that resentment came through in his fighting. He was more ruthless with his opponents, most of which stood little chance against his superior technique. Gendoru said nothing, but the looks he gave Madara were enough to communicate that he knew the lesson had not taken root as it should have.

Izuna knew something was wrong. No matter how good Madara was at putting on a show for others, he could never fool his brother. A part of him was glad for this. It was important to have at least one person who knew his true feelings and not use them against him. Still, he didn't have the words to explain himself even if Izuna could deduce what had happened with one look at the raw skin of his palms. He knew Madara better than anyone, and he knew not to press.

Instead, Madara decided to wander this afternoon. He wanted to get away from the other Uchiha and the constant competition between them. It festered between missions when they had no one to beat up but each other. He just needed to think away from the smell of blood and burning.

The Fire Country was vast but unregulated for the most part. The feudal lord possessed a sizeable army, but they were not enough to police the far-reaching stretches of his territory. Looting and pillaging were common here unlike in the Whirlpool Country, where the size was more manageable. No one would dare pick a fight with the Uchiha, of course, but the damage was easy to see. Civilians holed up inside and locked their doors when they passed through, unwilling even to listen to their bartering terms. There was a tangible fear that permeated this country.

The scenery matched the atmosphere. Plains stretched as far as the eye could see with few trees creating islands between diseased patches of coarse grass and shrubbery. The fires that gave the country its name had devoured the life that once flourished here. This was the sight of an ancient battle between the sons of the Sage of Six Paths on the eve of their father's death. Upset that his father passed his title to the younger son, the elder, the progenitor of the Uchiha clan, unleashed his fury on the very landscape in the form of black fire that burned for seven days and seven nights. The fires were so devastating that not even the younger son's divine waters could extinguish them. That was the legend, in any case. Whether or not it was true was open to debate. Regardless, it was no secret that the Fire Country was not the most hospitable environment for sedentary living. At least it wasn't a barren desert like the Wind Country. There were worse places to rest between jobs, to be sure.

Despite the unoriginal panorama interrupted occasionally by rocky hills, Madara had a particular destination in mind today. The Nakano River ran from the northern border to the western, where it petered out under the scalding force of a mighty desert. But here it ran swift and clean, a good fifty feet across at this particular spot. Madara stopped at the edge of the rocky bank, his reflection warped in the running water.

He closed his eyes and listened. The river sounded like running in the wind, a heady battle when every breath could be his last. It twisted and raged, always trying to stay on top and ahead. Yet when he opened his eyes again it was just a river, one mass incapable of outrunning itself. Somehow, the realization calmed him. Bending over, he picked up a smooth, flat stone at the edge of the water. It glistened in the sunlight like a gem, though it held no material value. He palmed it in one hand, then the other. It felt cool against the dull heat in his shredded palms through the dressings that hid them. Small red splotches dotted the bandages, refusing to heal. They didn't bother him.

The other side of the river seemed farther away than it was. He could easily walk across it with the aid of chakra, but Gendoru's words returned to him unbidden. Was he really too dependent on the Sharingan? If it was true, it was a problem. With no one around to see him question himself, Madara took a moment to contemplate the old man's advice. If he was falling into such a trap, he needed to climb out of it as soon as possible. There was no way he would ever make it to the top carried on brittle wings that could fail him at the first sign of strain. He needed to cover all his bases, eliminate any potential curve balls looking to catch him off his guard before they could cut him where it hurt. He clenched a ruined hand, ignoring the ache as he drew blood from the pressure.

"I can fight blind," he said, fingering the smooth rock in his other hand. "I don't need a crutch."

For reasons lost on him, he suddenly felt the urge to fling the rock clear across the river. Never one to question his instincts, Madara gave into the desire and swung his arm hard, releasing the rock at the apex of the arc. It skipped over the water as though it burned once, twice, thrice before finally sinking upon the fourth skip. Madara stared at the place where it had sunk, just missing the other side of the river by another skip or two.

"So I can't even skip rocks the right way," he said aloud, as though waiting for the river to offer up some explanation for this new inadequacy.

Splashing to the left caught his attention, and his eyes found the path of a flying rock skim the water's surface before landing with an awkward thump on the beach a few feet away. Frowning, Madara walked to it and bent to pick it up.

"You just need to put your whole body into the throw."

Muscles tensing at the sound of another's voice, Madara whirled in a defensive stance, the tassels on his leisure yukata whipping with the motion. Across the river, another boy stood alone and watching him with a curious gaze. Dark of complexion and dressed similarly in loose garb, he didn't look like much. But Madara recognized the stiffness in his shoulders and the wide positioning of his feet. His hand hovered over a section of the sash tying his robes, perhaps the location of a concealed weapon. This boy was a shinobi, there was no doubt about it.

"Who are you?" Madara asked, still clutching the offending rock.

The mystery boy didn't move for a breath or two, but once he processed the question he smiled a lopsided grin. "…You can call me Hashirama. And like I said, you're not doing it right."

Madara pressed his lips together, sorely tempted to toss the rock back at Hashirama's smug face. Who did this guy think he was? "Rock skipping is a useless talent. Who cares if I'm not doing it right?"

"Well, at least you admitted you're not doing it right," Hashirama said. "That's the first step to fixing it."

Madara squeezed the rock and took a step forward. "Listen, I'm not—"

"Hey, are you okay? You're bleeding."

The sudden change of subject caught Madara off guard. Following Hashirama's gaze to his hands, he had to swallow the growl that wanted to escape. This injury was nothing life-threatening by any means, but it was a constant reminder of his shortcomings. He hated it.

"I'm fine. What's it to you, anyway?"

"I can fix it if you want. But only if you want."

"How?" Madara was growing more and more suspicious of this boy by the second.

"Because I'm kind of awesome."

Madara gaped at Hashirama, waiting for him to laugh or something because there was no way he was _serious _right now. "…I'd call you arrogant, but I'm pretty sure you're just dumb. I'm leaving now." He turned to do just that.

"Hey, wait!"

Splashing betrayed the other boy's approach across the water, and Madara repressed the urge to roll his eyes. He turned, unwilling to show his back to a potential enemy whose strengths he did not know. Everyone who wasn't Uchiha was the enemy, that was what he'd always been taught growing up.

"Seriously, I can heal them if you want. See?" Hashirama held out a glowing green hand, the telltale symbol of medical ninjutsu.

Madara stared at the offered hand as he turned over this newest observation. If Hashirama was a medical ninja, the likelihood of his being a real threat was low. Medical ninja were known to be passive supporters, usually trading their services for sums of gold or protection. He couldn't be sure, of course, but it was a safe bet. Besides, if he was wrong Madara knew he was more than capable of defending himself. This boy looked to be about his age, maybe only a year or two older. Madara had faced bigger and meaner before.

"…I don't have any money."

Hashirama looked confused for a moment before breaking out into that stupid grin again. "Oh, I don't want any money."

"Then what do you want?"

"I don't want anything. You just look like you're in pain."

"Everyone wants something. You can't get something for nothing."

Hashirama thought about this for a moment, all traces of his former geniality gone. "…All right. Tell me your name and I'll fix your hands. Deal?"

Trusting a medical ninja required a leap of faith or a well-positioned knife to the heart. Giving access to one's body was nothing to sneeze at, no matter the skill level of the medical ninja involved. One malicious pulse of chakra could mean instant death, and there was little time to circumvent such a technique. Hashirama must have picked up on Madara's sudden wave of mistrust, and his expression softened again.

"Hey, if I wanted to kill you I could've done it before you knew I was here. Besides, if I killed you now I'd never know your name."

Madara wasn't sure what was so important about knowing his name, proud of it as he was, but this Hashirama kid seemed guileless enough to be believed, if nothing else. It was hard to slip a lie past Madara's keen eyes, and he detected none here. Hesitating another breath, he finally gave in and showed Hashirama his wrapped hands, the bandages now soaked with blood from their earlier abuse with the rocks.

Hashirama hissed. "That doesn't look too good. Let me see them unwrapped." He began uncurling the bandages even before Madara gave permission, which was irritating. But Madara said nothing.

"These look like old cuts. Why didn't you get them healed earlier?" Hashirama asked when the extent of the compounded damage was revealed.

Madara shrugged. "It's nothing I can't put up with."

"Yeah, well, if they get infected you could lose your hands."

"…That's ridiculous."

"It's not. I've seen it. These look like sword cuts. If you don't clean the blade, you can get all kind of diseases just from a little cut. You know, you're lucky I'm here to help."

"Whatever. Just get it over with."

"Sure." Hashirama raised a chakra-laden hand to hover over Madara's.

He worked in silence, efficient and without discernable effort. Madara had to give him credit; when he finished with one hand, the scars were too faint to notice without close observation. He tried clenching and unclenching his mended hand while Hashirama worked on the other, testing the new skin and pleased at the raw, healthy feel of it. He could work with this. Training would be less burdensome now.

"So, are you gonna tell me your name?"

Madara's gaze drifted to the green energy dancing across his other hand, watching as it churned out the dirty skin and blood to eliminate the threat of infection. He'd never paid much attention to medical ninjutsu because the Uchiha were so far removed from it. But watching Hashirama restore his hand like this was fascinating. He wondered how different the Uchiha would be if they employed skilled healers to fix them up after their rough missions. How many lives could be saved?

Hashirama finished his work and stood up straight, an expectant look in his dark eyes. Madara returned his gaze, a little awestruck by the power in this boy's hands and repelled by it as a potential threat at the same time. Still, there was no malice there, no judgment or suspicion. He just wanted to know his name, what he was promised.

"…Madara," he said finally.

He declined to offer his clan name because Hashirama had not given his. It was a red flag, an indication that Madara would likely recognize him for his heritage, and that was always a wild card. The Uchiha held no alliances with other clans, but they were on neutral terms with most. On the off chance Hashirama was from one of the few hostile ones, Madara would be obligated to engage him in a battle to the death. Tired and troubled and with mended hands at such a low price as his name, Madara felt little inclination to do battle right now.

"Madara," Hashirama repeated. "You don't look like a Madara."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just that I took you more for a Kenshin or an Oda. Something a little more fearsome."

Madara raised a fist. "Are you saying my name's wimpy? What kind of a name is Hashirama, anyway?"

Hashirama laughed, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Well, it's the only one I've got, so I'm stuck with it."

Madara stared at the other boy, now at a loss for words. He lowered his fist. "There's something wrong with you."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Hashirama said, unoffended for all intents and purposes. "Anyway, I gotta get back." He started to run back across the water to the opposite shore, but before he got to the other side he turned back and said, "Hey, if you come back here tomorrow I can help you with your swing."

"I don't need your help."

Hashirama smiled a little. "Then I guess you'll be able to get it across the river tomorrow."

"Of course I will. I wasn't really trying today."

Just before disappearing behind rolling hills, Hashirama waved and said, "See you!"

Madara stared at the empty spot, wondering about the strange boy who'd been standing there only a moment ago. _Strange _was the understatement of the century. He stretched mended fingers, testing the tautness of the fresh skin. They ached a little, but it was nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't cure. He showed the river his back and walked back in the direction of the Uchiha camp.

"See you," he said to himself before vanishing behind the rocky outcropping around which he'd come.

* * *

Two men sat alone in a tent upon a fine, crimson throw rug, their faces only half visible in the dim light of melting candles. A list of names scrawled in rigid angles lay between them as they conversed in hushed tones.

"I tell you, the boys get lazier with each generation. They don't make them like they used to in my day," Gendoru said, taking a sip of his ale and savoring the crisp effervescence.

"The problem is that the soldiers are outnumbering the nobles. My own son is a coward in battle. The only thing he can wield with any confidence is his cock." Uchiha Tajima tapped long fingers against the rim of his own mug, grey eyes staring into the murky depths.

Gendoru laughed. "Well, at least you'll be blessed with a brood of grandchildren, my lord."

"I have no use for bastard runts. They won't be worthy, anyway. That boy doesn't have an ounce of my skill."

Uchiha Tajitsu was known throughout the clan as a womanizer and a coward. At sixteen, he was in line to lead the Uchiha upon the death of his father, but none supported the transfer beyond the courtesy allotted to any princeling. Gendoru knew it, and Tajima did, too. His sisters, while possessed of more courage and chivalry than their brother, had the misfortune of being born women. They were obsolete in the struggle for power and leadership.

Gendoru took another swig of his beer. "Aye, that he doesn't. There's no beating around that bush."

"What this clan needs is a strong base. I'll wed my eldest, Haruka, to a worthy noble."

"My lord, all his shortcomings aside, Tajitsu-sama is your lawful heir. To pass him over would be to break a thousand years of tradition."

"What would you have me do? Reduce the Uchiha to a clan of whoremongers and drunks? As long as I breathe, we will not trade our swords for wine cups."

Silence ensued as the two men brooded over the quandary. It had been a constant subject of discussion among the Uchiha nobles as Tajima grew older. Of course, no one dared raise the issue to his face. The last one who did so ended up excommunicated for slander, his wealth distributed among the other nobles. But Tajima was not a fanciful man. He understood the reality of the situation and knew something had to be done. The fact that he'd chosen to confide in Gendoru was either humbling or terrifying. Perhaps a bit of both. Gendoru had trained Tajima as a boy in the ways of the sword for which he was now notorious. Having lost his own father as a young boy, Gendoru supposed this was partly an unspoken plea for a mentoring voice.

Still, Tajima was known to be immovable. Gendoru could speak freely, but only for so long. Tajima had a short temper that did not discriminate, not even for an old friend.

"No, what I need is a strong boy I can wed to Haruka and groom for leadership. Haruka is Tajitsu's senior and past the marriageable age. No one can object to my decision about the succession."

_A woman cannot legitimize authority, _Gendoru thought, but he said nothing.

"Take me through the list of your best. I need a boy with noble blood and excellent command over the Sharingan."

That had been about an hour ago. Now, mugs nearly empty and backs aching from bending over the list of high-born young soldiers, neither man was reassured. They were all too reckless or too stupid or too weak.

"That boy Hikaku isn't a bad option. His mother is a second cousin of yours, his father a high-ranking lieutenant. The boy has decent control over the Sharingan, and he's only thirteen," Gendoru said.

Tajima shook his head. "It's just not right. You said he's impulsive in battle and doesn't plan well. I need the opposite, someone who can strategize ten steps ahead of the competition and remain calm under pressure. He must be moldable, not rebellious. I need someone who can carry the weight of the Uchiha pride on his shoulders and still hold his head high."

Gendoru peered at the younger man over the thick spectacles he wore for reading. In all his years, he'd seen a good many boys with so much potential squander it in the heat of battle for empty glory or carnal prizes. There was no lack of good soldiers, but to find someone whose mind was as sharp as his sword was no easy feat. They needed a born leader with the passion and drive to inspire others and keep the Uchiha at the top of the food chain.

"...There is someone," Gendoru said, rolling up the list of names.

"Let me see," Tajima said, indicating the scroll.

"You won't find his name here. He's as low-born as they come."

Tajima frowned. "Then why broach the subject at all?"

Gendoru had to consider for a moment if he ought to pursue this path. If he did, he would have to commit to it with all that he had or Tajima would not listen. Self-doubt was a weapon in the hands of an observant foe...or a shrewd superior. It was part of what made Tajima a good leader. Gendoru had always preferred the surety of steel in his hands to the shadowy schemes of rulers.

"He's green, and he's got a lot to learn. It's difficult for him to improvise in battle when things don't go his way. And he's a bastard son of a third tier soldier and a civilian whore."

"Then why are we even having this conversation? If what you say is true, this boy is not even worthy to clean the mud off my boots."

Veiny hands fiddled with the ends of his wiry, white hair as Gendoru tried to compose his thoughts. "I've known this boy since he was four years old. He was always the quiet type, smaller than the other boys. He never said much, just watched and waited. I thought he was afraid at first, but when I put a sword in his hand I knew I was wrong."

Tajima watched him with a neutral expression, betraying nothing. "How so?"

"He learns through observation. Once he sees something done once, he can replicate it. It's beyond the abilities of the Sharingan; he can mimic in a matter of days what took me months to perfect. He's a genius fighter."

Tajima was silent for a moment as he thought about this. "You're not one to give out praise where it isn't due. Suppose this boy is what you say he is. A soldier can rule with a sword on the battlefield but not in a throneroom. I have Senju Ikema to worry about, and I know for a fact that his eldest son will be a capable leader one day if I don't manage to kill him first. Besides, I would never ask the Uchiha to bow down before a rat no matter how hard he bites."

"My lord, you know I have the utmost respect for the lady Haruka, but I must be blunt. She is a woman, and a woman cannot be trusted to lead men. It won't matter if she weds high-born lordling if he doesn't command acknowledgment."

Tajima pressed his lips together. "You speak quite freely with me. I hope you haven't forgotten your place. I'm your leader, not your training grunt."

Gendoru bowed his head, wincing at the biting tone. If he pushed any further, he could end up suffering the consequences. "No, my lord, never. I only meant... The Uchiha respect power and cunning. If the boy has that in spades, the chances of this unconventional succession plan you've hatched won't go over so rough. I meant no disrespect."

Grey eyes, lidded with the effects of alcohol, peered at the elder man through the soft gloom. Gendoru held his breath, waiting.

"It's out of the question," Tajima said. "We are a noble clan descended from the Sage of Six Paths himself. A deity's blood flows in our veins, and you would have me taint that legacy by adopting a whore's son as my own? It's ludicrous. Perhaps you've had too much to drink."

Gendoru squeezed his hands to calm their shaking. "Forgive me, my lord. Of course you're right. I won't speak of it again." On the inside, however, he itched the smack the younger man upside the head. For all the ocular prowess the Uchiha could boast, their ego tended to blind them from the most important details. But there was no arguing with an absolute authority, at least not like this.

The men rose, tired from the evening's activity and the impasse that divided them now. Gendoru bowed low before excusing himself, but Tajima's voice stopped him.

"Out of curiosity, what's the boy's name?"

Gendoru turned to face his lord, expression betraying nothing. "Uchiha Madara."

"Madara." It smacked of disgust, as though he'd bitten into rotten fruit. "A dirty name for a dirty boy. How fitting." With that Tajima turned and strolled to the back of the tent, a silent dismissal.

Gendoru watched his former student's retreat, dismayed. He'd thought there might have been some hope in this option, but it seemed he was wrong.

_Stick to the swords, old man. Leave the politics to the young. Lord knows they'll never listen to you, anyway._

Sighing, he stepped outside into the rain.

* * *

He hadn't planned on going back to the river. He hadn't been thinking about that strange Hashirama kid at all or the favor he'd done for him. This was what Madara kept telling himself even as he wandered back to the banks of the Nakano River, lead by some invisible force. Something about Hashirama was suspicious, and Madara had learned early on to trust his instincts. He didn't know much about medical ninjutsu, but he did know that it was a difficult skill requiring above average chakra control. Never one to ignore a source of power, Madara was unsurprised to find himself here again. Not that he would admit it out loud.

"I didn't think you'd be back."

Hashirama sat on the opposite bank hugging his knees as he stared into the rushing river water. Madara peered at him, curious. He didn't know Hashirama very well, but it was obvious something was bothering him. The quirky boy who spoke too carelessly was nowhere to be found.

"You look like someone died," he said.

Hashirama looked up, an unreadable glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down Madara's spine. It was gone as soon as it had come, but the damage was done. He had to physically restrain himself from going for the tantō at his hip. Now curious and a little wary, he tried again.

"...Did they?"

The river between them was a living mirror reflecting the light of the sun. Blinding. Water was all Madara heard, running and struggling to keep moving, perhaps closing in on a distant goal or escaping the place from which it had come. Alone and divided, he and Hashirama remained still as time itself slipped by without them.

"My brother," Hashirama said. "When we found him, I didn't recognize him. They burned his face off."

Madara's eyes never left the other boy as he spoke terrible truths without an ounce of emotion. He'd seen death, plenty of it, but every incarnation was unique, like spring flowers blooming for the first time. It was amazing to him how many ways the human body could greet death. Burning, of course, was one of the more familiar to him. But then again, he'd never lost a brother.

"People die."

Hashirama just stared at him with a hollow look, and Madara couldn't tell if he was shocked or angry or something wholly different. There was nothing there.

"Funny, isn't it?" Hashirama said, smiling a little. "It doesn't matter who you are, where you come from, where you're going...even how old you are. People die, and they don't stop."

It was unsettling seeing him like this. Madara could almost fool himself into thinking their last meeting was a figment of his imagination. This boy was not the one from the other day. It made him angry, and he stepped forward over the water. Hashirama said nothing even though he must have seen Madara approaching over the river. Once across, Madara maintained a safe distance and remained standing, just in case.

"How old was he?"

Hashirama didn't answer for a long time. A light breeze ran cool fingers through Madara's shoulder length mop of hair, struggling to weave through its choppy spikes. Hashirama released his knees and leaned his weight backwards on his palms.

"Seven."

_Seven._

He'd killed younger. He supposed Hashirama had, too. Children, in certain situations, were more dangerous than adults. Their young faces, so bright and full of hope, could be enough to disarm soft hearts long enough to wreak havoc. He'd once seen a child from a clan in Earth Country pose as an orphan and murder eight unsuspecting Uchiha in their beds during a northern campaign three years ago. Needless to say, the child and the soldier that had taken her in were both executed in plain sight as a lesson for all. The incident taught young soldiers to offer begging orphans the points of their swords instead of a morsel of food.

"That's an old age," Madara said, dark eyes staring into the depths of the river.

"...I know. That's just the problem. There's no room for children in this world. We're born, and we die."

"No."

"No?"

"I don't plan on dying, not yet. There's still something I need to achieve." Madara looked down on his companion. "If you don't have something like that, then you're already dead."

"So I guess...I'm ghost who keeps coming back here." He smiled again, and Madara decided he hated that fake smile, a mask hiding the pain underneath. A lie. "If I really were dead, then at least I'd get to see my little brother's face again."

Unbidden, an image of Izuna as he used to be when Shiori was still alive came to mind. He smiled so much back then, so happy without a care in the world as long as his big brother was there to protect him. Losing that...he couldn't imagine it.

"What was his name? Your brother."

Hashirama looked surprised at the question. He was easy to read when he wasn't trying to act tough. "Kawarama."

"And I thought 'Hashirama' was ridiculous."

The two boys locked eyes for a breath before Hashirama burst out laughing. He held his stomach to ease the spasms, tears kissing the edges of his eyes as Madara watched him, mildly disturbed.

"He would have gotten so mad to hear you say that!"

Hashirama's laughter died down, replaced with the sound of the rushing river. The sun was beginning to dip low on the horizon, clouding the waters until the bottom faded from view. As his own reflection disappeared into the abyss, Madara wondered about the denizens of the dark lurking under the surface, watching them.

"...I'm sorry."

Hashirama hugged his knees again and watched the inky waters pass them by. Madara had to wonder what he was thinking in that moment. What did it mean to lose a brother? What did it mean to continue living without him? He would never know. Izuna was strong, and fire flowed in his veins. Not even death could come between them.

"Thank you," Hashirama said softly.

Madara lingered for a little longer in Hashirama's company, silent as a statue. If it were him, he would not want to be alone.

* * *

"Steady your grips, ladies," Gendoru said as he walked among the pairs of young shinobi. "This isn't a tea party, it's training. No need to be delicate."

They were improving little by little, he supposed, although progress wasn't stellar. Most wouldn't live through puberty, and those that did would die young anyway. Only the prodigal had the luxury of growing wrinkles and being called 'grandfather.'

"The Senju won't give you any breaks," he said as he passed sweating boys with blood on their faces from careless hits. "Your eyes are a weapon. Try opening them."

The ones that did live would be the ones that made the clan great. They would write its history, lead its armies, and carry the centuries-old Uchiha pride on their shoulders. In the end, history is written by the winners.

"Izuna, you're too safe. Don't let up."

He lingered a little to watch the brothers duke it out. Madara seemed to have recovered finally after the botched spar against Hikaku, and now he was on the verge of cutting his brother to ribbons if Izuna did not start fighting back. The younger brother had always been wont to defer to the elder, a natural tendency but one that could get him in trouble one day. Even so, he exhibited a similar gift for the sword as his brother. When he wasn't sparring with Madara, he exerted a ruthless will that drove opponents to their knees.

_Are they really the stock of a lowly foot soldier and a common harlot?_

As he turned to make his way back down the line, he spotted Tajima leaning against the nearby armory tent. He wore a hood to conceal his face, but Gendoru knew him a mile away. He also knew that Tajima would not want to be approached, lest his identity be revealed. Instead, he thought about a more indirect method of getting the younger man's attention.

"Stop, everyone break apart," he said, waiting for the boys to lay down their weapons. "I've been lenient with you lot today, and I'm afraid you're getting lazy. Group with the pair next to you and work together."

The boys scrambled to do just that, the spars suddenly turning more heated and serious as they were forced to concentrate not only on their opponents, but also on the movements of their partners. To the left, Madara and Izuna faced off against a pair of boys a good foot taller than them. Dark eyes narrowing, Gendoru tapped the shoulder of the nearest boy.

"Tano, you and Sen join that group. Catch them by surprise."

The two preteens bowed and scurried to do as they were told. And he waited. The brothers were busy fighting off two formidable opponents and didn't notice the approach to another team of enemies at their backs at first.

Izuna lunged, his twin tantō parrying his opponent's downward slice and jabbing at dented armor, searching for a joint to slip through. As Tano and Sen prepared to ambush them, Madara delivered a hard blow to his opponent's sword hand, knocking the blade to the ground. He whirled with the motion, just in time to block Tano's chokutō from gutting him from navel to nose. The sound drew Izuna's attention, and he scowled at the new odds.

Gendoru watched as the brothers quickly adjusted their formation without speaking, their backs touching to cover each other's blind spots. Izuna brandished his two tantō while Madara squeezed a chokutō in a two-handed grip. A brief moment of calm passed before all four enemies ran at them shouting battle cries.

Steel sang as they fought, thrusting and rolling with the rhythm of the dance. They moved as one, tag teaming their opponents with the fluidity of long-time partners well-versed in each other's fighting styles. Where Madara pushed, Izuna caved. And when Izuna slashed with all his might, Madara skidded to fill his blind spot and prevent the ambush waiting to catch him in the back. Alone they were blind, but together they could see beyond their limitations, a lethal combination of give and take.

"_To fight is to dance. If you have the right partner, you can deliver an unforgettable performance," _Gendoru had told them.

Madara disarmed Tano and wasted no time in bludgeoning his head with the hilt of his chokutō, knocking him out. Sen, desperate not to lose, threw caution to the wind and charged, a mistake that sealed his failure. Madara had expected such a reaction and was ready to put an end to the fight. He swung his blade in a hard, wide arc, catching Sen in the shoulder with a deep cut. It was a simple matter to knock his sword from his hand and subdue him.

All the while, Madara paid no attention to what was going on behind him. He trusted Izuna to see for him. It came as no surprise when he turned around and observed his younger brother shoving his last opponent to the ground and straddling him, dagger to the jugular should he try to put up a struggle.

It was over in under a minute.

"Pathetic," Gendoru said, nudging the fallen Tano with a booted toe. "You just lost to two halfling bastards, boy. Remember that when you fight the Senju. A sword in talented hands cuts deep. It's doesn't matter who bore those hands."

Tano picked himself up and kept his eyes downcast as he made the seal for reconciliation, which Madara returned without a word. Gendoru nodded, satisfied.

"Don't just stand there. Did I say you could stop?"

The boys all returned to their sparring, unwilling to suffer the wrath of their training master. Gendoru made his way to where Tajima still stood, unmoving and unimpressed.

"My lord," he said by way of greeting.

Tajima said nothing, and they continued to watch the young Uchiha hack away at each other with increasing ruthlessness and cunning. Gendoru could relax a bit; they were learning every day. It was a good thing, too. One day, they would be all that held the Uchiha military force together at the front lines.

"You didn't tell me he had a brother," Tajima said.

"Aye, he does."

Tajima stepped away from the wall, perhaps bored with the whole ritual. "He's decent."

Gendoru stared at his leader's back, stunned. "My lord, I—"

"I'll be going. I'm a busy man," Tajima said with a dismissive wave.

Gendoru watched him go, unsure what to make of this. Tajima rarely examined the up-and-coming soldiers until they were old enough to hold office in his army. Life had taught Gendoru that he was not cut out for the schemes and machinations of politicians, so he decided to let it go. Whatever Tajima was thinking (or not thinking) was out of his control, anyway.

"Crap, move!"

Madara released a signature Great Fireball at Tano and Sen, who had recovered after their defeat and resumed the attack. Some of the other boys had dropped their arms and cheered on the contenders. Izuna burst through the flames, tantō at the ready to catch Tano and Sen by surprise.

"Stop that this instant!" Gendoru said, jogging to the scene. "You'll burn down the tents. Take it somewhere else!"

_Damn kids._

It was easy to forget that they were just children looking to have a little fun when the old training master turned a blind eye.

* * *

**Author's note: **Just so we're on the same page, I'm keeping Senju daddy's name as "Ikema" in this because I wrote chapter 2 before the manga chapter revealing Butsuma came out. I'd rather stay consistent and avoid going back to change things like that and confuse people. His personality may also seem OOC in chapter 2, but I have thought of a way to fix that going forward. Fear not, I'm pretty sure I know what I'm doing...hah. Incidentally, that will be my policy with this fic in general. Regardless of what the manga reveals, I won't go back and change things to conform to it (obviously, since Mito is in this story). Consider this AU if you want. Message with any questions.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! This is part one of their meeting, and I'll continue in the next installment. I'll bring Mito back soon. :)


	4. The Dream

Glass Trinity, Chapter 4: The Dream  
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

* * *

There was no sand on the beaches of Uzushiogakure. Even so, Mito insisted on traversing the porous rocks barefoot to feel the cool, ocean spray on her toes. It was a welcome change from the stuffy shoes she had to wear in the presence of her lord father and the many important Uzumaki nobles and their guests. The sky was as stormy as Mito's gray-green eyes, but she wasn't worried about rain—the skies were always foggy at this early hour.

Mito perched upon a jagged expanse of rock, the waves breaking several feet below. There were whirlpools for miles as far as the eye could see, churning the water a frothy blue-green until their centers faded to black and sank down to mysterious depths. Most were about as far across as Mito was tall, if she had to guess, but others farther out were bigger. _Much _bigger. She bet they stretched as far across as a whole house. The thought frightened her—what could have caused such a terrible force of nature? And yet, she wondered what lay below the surface, beyond that black eye of the storm to the heart of the ocean below. Had Madara and Izuna's ship made it through them safely?

"You're up early, my lady. Eager to get started, I'd wager."

Mito turned at the sound of Satto's voice and smiled. He's promised her he would teach her a very old technique today, and she could not say no to such an offer. "Yes, General. Can we begin?"

Satto escorted her inland a bit so they weren't so in danger of tumbling into the sea. If Ensui had caught her out here he would be cross, but Satto wasn't the type to keep tabs on her. They stood opposite each other, Satto in a comfortable blue gi and sandals, Mito in a salt-stained, brown fisher girl's outfit.

"Today, you'll summon your first slug," Satto said.

Mito went wide-eyed. "Slug? But only a few members of the clan can command them."

"Yep, and not many of them had your talent at twelve years old. Unless you think this is a waste of time? I could always let your father know you'd like to practice tea ceremony instead."

Mito shook her head a little harder than necessary. "No, of course not! Show me, please!"

Satto grinned. "Thought so. Okay, memorize these hand seals."

It took her a few tries to get the seals perfect, and then came the chakra output.

"Channel just the right amount. Release too much or too little and the technique'll backfire."

That took the better part of the morning, and Mito's stomach was beginning to grumble for some breakfast. But she didn't give up. She had a tendency to overcompensate with too much chakra, and each failed attempt resulted in lowered vitality. And yet, she kept at it until Satto was satisfied that her execution was good.

"And now for the contract," Satto said, producing a thick scroll as long as his arm and unrolling it on the rocks.

Mito crouched down on all fours, curious eyes drawn to the beautiful runes painted over the paper. They'd faded with time, but to a practiced eye the scroll's restoration was obvious.

"This is the Scroll of Shikkotsu. With this, we can communicate with the slug and snail beasts that live in the fabled Shikkotsu Forest. This scroll was originally passed down from the Sage of Six Paths himself to the descendents of his younger son, the progenitor of the Senju clan. It fell to us when our family branched from the Senju some hundreds of years ago."

"The Senju clan," Mito said, thinking. "If we're related to them, why don't we have an alliance with them? They're one of the most powerful families on the continent."

"That's right, my lady. You'd have to ask your lord father about the politics of it all, but my understanding is just that the Senju were so large a force that people began to develop specializations. We Uzumaki didn't care for the bloodshed as much as others. Well, you can see where we are now."

Satto's smile was contagious, the crow's feet around his eyes giving him a jovial air. Around them, the sound of waves crashing and the pungent smell of salt in the air made Mito sleepy. It was relaxing being here like this even though she was expending a rather large amount of chakra in such a short time.

"Anyway, let's get a move on with the summoning. If that beast takes a liking to you, it could become a great ally."

Mito nodded, eyes trained on the scroll. Tracing the many looping designs along the edges of the seal, she realized she was not just looking at an ancient written language but also at a kind of painting. A forest.

"The Shikkotsu Forest," Mito said, following on sloping tendril of ink with a finger. "Is it made of bones for real?"

"I'm not sure," Satto said, thoughtful. "No one alive today's ever been there and lived to tell about it."

"Why not?"

"Well, it takes a certain amount of strength, and not necessarily this kind." He held up an arm and patted his covered bicep. "Your great, great grandfather found a way through the forest, or so they say."

Mito hadn't known her ancestor (not even the Uzumaki lived quite so long), but she'd heard stories from her father. His chakra was like the essence of life itself, able to heal even the gravest injuries. Scientists and priests alike had studied the effects of the Uzumaki's chakra, but there was no explanation for _why _it was so vigorous. There was even less information about how to control such a potent life force—only the few had managed to harness its true potential, and Mito's great, great grandfather had been one such person.

"You don't think _I _could possibly...?"

She wasn't even sure what she was asking. Uzumaki Mito had been born into a privileged life with a stable future ahead of her. What could she possibly hope for outside of that, realistically? It angered her, but she knew that her father was right: better to learn the rules and play the game if she wanted a chance to win it.

"I don't know," Satto said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But...I s'pose we won't know anything unless you try this summoning technique. What do you say, my lady?"

Mito followed his instructions, hyper aware of every move she made and her chakra output. Sweat plastered her bangs to her forehead with the exertion. Even with her expansive reserves for her age, her body couldn't take such brutal output over the few hours they'd been out here. Biting her thumb to draw the blood necessary to sign the summoning contract, Mito held back a wince at the sting. The blood of her ancestors marked previous signatures, some loopy and beautiful, others more angular and illegible. The hand seals came next.

"Kuchiyose no jutsu!"

Chakra poured out of her like a waterfall, pooling and combusting with a loud _pop_ and burst of thick smoke. Mito coughed and tried to ignore the burn in her damaged hand. When the air cleared, her eyes lit up at the sight of her success. A snail-like creature a little longer than her arm sat on the ground before her, eyestalks peering around as though disoriented.

"I did it," Mito said, breathless and falling to her knees. "I really did it!"

Satto squatted down to have a look at their guest. "And who might you be?"

The snail creature had a single blue stripe painted down her back and spiked shell like polished ebony. The flat of her belly leaked a clear mucous that Mito was disinclined to touch—not because she was revolted, but because it could be poisonous.

"Sazae," the creature said.

"I summoned you," Mito said, observing the wicked points of Sazae's still developing shell. Just before she gave the creature her name, she remembered what Madara had said about his own name.

"_A man's name is his identity; it's everything."_

"Uzumaki Mito," she said, dipping her head respectfully. "Thank you for coming here."

Sazae peered at her askance (or so it seemed given her strange eyes—Mito wasn't sure which one to focus on). "...Uzumaki-san," Sazae said, hesitating. "It...is my pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Mito couldn't help but giggle. Who would have thought turban shells were so polite? "Just Mito, please. We're going to be partners, right?"

"I suppose..."

Satto cleared his throat. "My lady, you should spend some hours each day working with Sazae. A contract is a binding agreement between shinobi and summon. You're responsible for her, and she's responsible for you. Do you understand what that means?"

Mito wondered if snails could blush. She supposed it would look something like this, and the thought made her smile. "It means...we're like sisters. And sisters look out for each other."

"O-Oh!" Sazae said, eyestalks peering about as though nervous. "That is..."

"So, what kinda jutsu do you know? Let's try something!" Mito stood up and wiped her sweaty bangs out of her eyes, beckoning for the oversized snail to follow suit.

Satto watched the two new partners get to know each other from his silent post a few yards away. The last time he'd seen his young princess so animated was when he'd taught her her first sealing technique. That childlike light that brought her to life shown through now despite the gloomy atmosphere. It was hard to imagine that this girl, so vibrant before him, was the same one who swallowed her duties as the clan regent's only daughter, an heiress destined to a life of servitude to whatever husband her father chose for her one day. It angered Satto to think of such strength being squandered for the sake of tradition, but he wasn't one to argue politics on most days.

"Oh wow, do that again!" Mito said, eyes glued to a patch of rock rapidly dissolving under the power of Sazae's acid spray.

"Oh, you...liked that? All right, I suppose," Sazae said.

"Oh wait! Wait, let me just seal some of it for later!" Mito scurried to seal the acid away in one of the many sea shells or other knick knacks she carried on her person. With what looked like little effort, the acid was sucked inside a shell the size of her small hand, leaving only steaming rock behind. "Never know when I'll need some melting power, right?"

_Astounding._

He couldn't remember teaching her that. Simple things like water or sand, sure, but snail acid? She would have to have taught herself the proper seals to incorporate in order to stop corrosion of the container, among other things. Satto shook his head, wanting to laugh.

"_You don't think _I_ could possibly...?"_

"Yes, princess. I do," Satto said to himself as he continued to watch Mito and her new summon practice. "I think your possibilities are endless."

Traditions be damned.

* * *

Madara met Hashirama by the Nakano River nearly every day after his training was over for the day. It had become a routine for them, although neither admitted they sought out the other's company. Hashirama recovered after Kawarama's death, although Madara suspected he was just good at putting on a stupid grin and hiding his true feelings. Not that he blamed him. Emotions were a sure-fire way to end up dead due to distraction and desperation.

Today, they were skipping rocks again and Madara was practicing his technique as Hashirama babbled something about centrifugal force. "You know, if you stopped talking I'd be able to concentrate a little more."

"How're you going to know how to do it right if I don't tell you how?" Hashirama said.

Madara shot him a poisonous look. "You're distracting me. It's annoying."

"All right, all right. You're nearly there anyway."

Madara ignored him as he bit his lip in concentration. Then, he pulled back and swung hard, feeling the flat rock spin out of his hand at the height of the arc just as Hashirama had explained. It skipped four times before sinking to the bottom of the river.

"Damnit," Madara said, watching as the ripples drifted away with the force of the rushing water.

"You're still not putting your back into it," Hashirama said, passing his own rock between his hands. "It's not about brute strength, you know? You have to _want _it to reach the other side."

"I'm pretty sure that's what I want," Madara said, crossing his arm. "Whatever, this is boring."

Hashirama laughed and they sat down together at the bank of the river watching the sun dip low on the horizon.

"You're wrong, you know," Madara said after awhile.

"About what?"

"Just because you want something doesn't mean you can have it."

Hashirama thought about this for a moment. "Wanting is half the battle. If you don't really believe your desires, you'll never get them."

Madara snorted. "If that were true, then there'd be no poor people and children would outlive their parents. It's a dream, plain and simple."

"...What if it didn't have to be?"

Madara felt the other boy's eyes on him and turned to meet him. He picked up a rock from the shore and played with it absently. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What if we could make that dream come true? What if kids could live in a place where they could grow up, have a family, be happy? Where they didn't have to die."

Madara instantly thought of Hashirama's dead brother. It didn't take a genius to deduce that the kid had been a victim of some fire technique or other, a casualty of Uchiha warfare. Many had died the same way before him, younger too, but seeing how that singular death had affected Hashirama made him a little uncomfortable.

"That's stupid. You can't just make something happen because you want it to. I just said that."

"Then how would _you _do it, smart guy?"

Madara resisted the urge to turn up his nose. "If you want something, you have to work for it." He tossed the rock between his hands, fingers itchy. "If you work hard, you'll get stronger. And people listen to the strong."

"I guess that makes sense," Hashirama consented after a moment. He broke out into a stupid grin. "So...I bet I'm stronger than you."

"You keep dreaming."

"Bet I could wipe the floor with you."

"Bet _I _could."

"You can't even throw that rock across the river!"

Madara chucked the rock at Hashirama's head, but he caught it just before it hit his face—fast! There was a moment of tension before both boys scrambled to their feet and put some distance between them. They'd never resorted to this, concerned with revealing too much about their respective clans and techniques. It looked as though that was all about to end.

"You're not gonna beat me just because you want to," Madara said.

Hashirama grinned. "Then I guess I'll just have to show you I'm better, huh."

The seconds ticked by and Madara ignored the glare of the setting sun as it sparkled upon the rushing waters of the Nakano River, their audience. There was no one here but them, no river between them on this side of the bank. Madara's hand hovered over the hilt of a hidden tantō, ready to draw.

Hashirama made the first move—a thrown shuriken. Madara easily deflected it with his blade, and Hashirama was on him soon after. It started with steel, both boys still loathe to show off any incriminating techniques. Hashirama was good. Madara went for the jugular and Hashirama read his body language perfectly. But as the weeks rolled by and they continued to meet, they took risks.

"Katon: Gōkakyū no jutsu!"

Fire roared as it flew across the sparkling waters of the Nakano River, drawing steam in its wake. Madara grinned when he thought he'd gotten a good hit, but Hashirama was a hard one to put down. The river water churned and rose as though called upon by the skies above, enveloping the fireball. Madara wasn't about to let such a pitiful defense beat him, though. He fed more chakra to his technique and released before running after it, sword drawn. The afternoon sun glinted against the cold steel of his chokutō and he flew, fearless, into the heart of his own flames for a surprise attack.

Branches, gnarled and thick, materialized through the orange heat on a one-way collision course with Madara's vitals. He was forced to slash his way out of the death trap, spinning in midair to cut one and use the momentum to hack at another. Nimble feet landed on the uneven water, but he didn't let his guard down. Hashirama appeared through the dissolving fireball, his wooden branches twisting about him like a sort of shield. They snaked toward Madara as though sentient, but it was no matter—Madara knew this technique. He hacked away at them, splinters flying and sap staining his blade, until Hashirama was in range of his sword. Steel clashed with steel, sparks bounding off from their point of meeting and falling into the murky waters below like so many stars.

"Not bad," Madara said over the scream of steel.

Hashirama grinned. "Speak for yourself!"

The more they fought, the closer they grew. It was a dance, just like the old man had said. No one had fought Madara the way Hashirama fought him, so full of vigor and pushing him to his limits. And a dance can only be as stunning as the partners performing it. Whenever Madara had free time in the afternoons and evenings, he would return to the Nakano River to see his friend.

_Friend?_

He supposed that was the only way to describe Hashirama at this point. He wasn't an ally or a brother, but he wasn't an enemy, either. _He's not my enemy. _This was what Madara told himself. This was what he reassured himself of when he left their meetings drained to exhaustion, having suffered some beating from Hashirama's unique kekkei genkai (unheard of, if he was being honest, but they never were honest). This was what he told himself at night when he would lie in bed and dare to dream of the world Hashirama talked about sometimes, a world without death and pain where people could live without having to fear death around every corner. A place they could create together, a world of peace and prosperity. A promise to become strong enough to make the dream a reality.

Izuna began to notice how worn out Madara was for training (how could he not?). Madara was slower than usual due to compounded exhaustion. Hashirama could heal his body's aches and pains, but he couldn't do a thing for the maximum capacity Madara always seemed to reach with him. It showed in his training with the Uchiha, and Izuna was worried.

"I'm just doing extra training on my own time," Madara told his brother to pacify him.

Izuna was not convinced, of course. "You never have any wounds or signs of chakra exhaustion. If you're training enough to be this tired, it would show."

Sometimes Madara wished Izuna wasn't as perceptive as he was. "It's nothing. Forget it."

Izuna watched him from behind the glow of the Sharingan, searching for cracks in his brother's armor. "...Just be careful, brother. I'm not the only one with eyes here."

Madara ruffled his brother's hair, a rare sign of affection he would never display in front of others. "I know. It won't be like this forever."

Neither boy noticed the presence of another around the corner, having overheard their conversation. Gendoru waited until his two most promising students cleared out of the armory to step out of the shadows. Dark eyes followed Madara's back as he walked out, the Uchiha fan emblazoned proudly upon his shirt back.

Like all good things, this, too, would come to a stark and horrifying end.

* * *

"Where do you go all the time?" Tobirama asked his brother when he returned late yet again. "I'm not gonna keep telling Father you're fishing."

"You could tell him I'm watching the clouds," Hashirama said with an easy smile as he removed his shoes and stepped inside the tent he shared with his remaining two brothers.

"Can I come next time, Hashi? Please?" Itama said, taking Hashirama's hand in his.

"You're too young to be training with me," Hashirama said, patting his youngest brother's head. "Just wait a few years."

Itama did not like that answer, and it showed. At nine years old, he was only a year younger than Tobirama. It should have been no issue at all for him to train with his brothers, but Itama had none of the talent Hashirama and Tobirama had. It mattered little to Hashirama—he was happy to become strong enough to protect his family. But their father was not as pleased with this situation. Ikema was a reasonable man on most days, but when it concerned the dignity of his family (and his heirs, specifically) he wanted the best for them and for the clan. Kawarama had had far more budding talent than Itama, and he was gone. A darker part of Hashirama wondered if his father wished he'd lost a different son, but Hashirama never let the thought take shape.

"But I'm gonna kill all those Uchiha," Itama said, now very serious. "Tobi's only a year older than me. I can take 'em!"

"Cut it out," Tobirama said, laying a hand on Itama's shoulder. "You're not ready for the Uchiha."

"Am too! I'm gonna make 'em pay for what they did to Kawarama."

Hashirama hesitated only a second before his bright smile was back in place. "Anyway, Itama, did'ya save me some dinner? I'm starving!"

The boys sat with Hashirama as he ate, talking for hours about this and that. Eventually, Itama fell asleep and Hashirama and Tobirama lay in their sleeping beds, whispering.

"Who's this guy you're fighting all the time?"

Hashirama smiled through the darkness. His brother was sharper than him on most days, and something like this would never get past him unawares.

"Just a friend," Hashirama said. It was the truth, after all. Madara _was _his friend. As far as Hashirama was concerned, that was all that mattered.

"_I'm _your friend."

"You're my brother. There's a difference."

"Yeah. You don't have to sneak around to train with your brother."

Hashirama sighed. "Just...don't worry about it, okay? He's just another kid. We talk, we train, that's it."

Tobirama turned over and showed Hashirama his back. "...You better wash before you talk to Father tomorrow. You stink of smoke."

Hashirama said nothing to that fair warning, wanting to shrug it off as nothing. But in the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't nothing. As he fell asleep that night, visions of brilliant battles danced in his head, fire and water and earth, singing steel. And clocks ticking in the background, counting down the precious hours until the end. Hashirama didn't get much sleep that night.

* * *

When Madara left the Uchiha settlement that late summer day, he knew something was wrong. He didn't know what, exactly, but it was a gut feeling. He took the usual route to the banks of the Nakano River, but his steps were heavy and mechanical. Even the air tasted stale without wind to churn it.

Arriving at the usual spot, Madara picked up a rock, their ritual greeting. He'd never been able to make his skip all the way across, but today he knew he would have to deliver.

_Don't look back, _he willed himself. Dark eyes focused on the opposite bank where Hashirama suddenly appeared, rock in hand. No goofy waving, no unnecessary "Madara, is that you?" Everything about him was off, tense. This wasn't the Hashirama he knew.

Madara clenched his fist around his rock. This was no time to dream. "I don't have time to train today," he said, taking a step forward.

"Me neither," Hashirama said, shifting his weight. "I guess...we'll just have to wait til next time, huh?"

"Yeah..."

Shadows moved behind Madara, a trick of the light? No, his eyes could see through the cleverest tricks. Time was up.

"Catch!" Hashirama shouted, launching his rock across the river.

Madara swung his arm back and threw his own rock, arching his body and following through with the swing. Three, four, five skips. He caught Hashirama's rock just as his own made it across for the first time. Victory.

_Run._

The message was crude and hastily inscribed upon the rock's surface, but its intent could not be clearer. Madara was not one to pale before fear on most days, but today he felt those icy fingers grab hold of him if only for a second. Hashirama clutched his own rock, eyes hard and unreadable. They turned and dashed back towards their respective homes, but it was too late. From among the rocks and trees emerged the ugly truth that Madara had always known would come between them—it was only a matter of time.

"We meet again, Senju Ikema."

Madara skidded to a halt before the man he knew by reputation to be the leader of the Uchiha clan...and Izuna at his side dressed in full armor. Of all the people to have followed him here, he hadn't been expecting _the _Uchiha clan leader to be here, and with his brother no less.

"Uchiha-sama," Madara said, the shock evident in his voice.

Tajima spared him a glance and nodded. "Uchiha Madara," he said. "You managed to lure out the heir to the Senju clan. Good work."

_Heir to the Senju clan._

Madara turned to look over his shoulder where Hashirama stood flanked now by another boy and a man Madara could only assume to be Senju Ikema, his father. Hashirama's expression of frustration matched Madara's as they faced off on opposite sides of the river, the seconds ticking away until the age-old fight would continue on the banks of the Nakano River. Madara shot Izuna a look over his shoulder, but his brother's look was hard. Izuna would never betray him, but he would have been in a pinch if an authority figure had cornered him about Madara's behavior lately. Cursing inwardly, Madara returned his gaze to the Senju shinobi across the river.

"Tajima," Ikema said, going for his katana. "You don't know when to roll over and die even after all these years."

"I could say the same for you."

"Lucky for you, I'm happy to rectify that problem here and now, once and for all."

The fight was explosive. Tajima led Madara and Izuna, who'd never fought with him before, in a triple Great Fireball. Orange flames covered the river like three great suns, causing the waters to hiss and steam as the fire barrelled toward the other side. Madara squinted through the bright light, searching for Hashirama.

"Brother, I didn't have a choice," Izuna whispered.

"I know," Madara said, stealing a glance at the infamous leader of their clan several feet away.

The sound of roaring water drew their attention, and great water spouts the likes of which Madara had never seen Hashirama ever produce twisted up among the flames. Through the steam and mist, he could make out the boy he assumed to be Hashirama's younger brother controlling the water. But there was no time to dwell on the sheer genius he was witnessing here. Sharingan flaring to life, Tajima shouted at the young brothers to follow him forward. With little choice, Madara obeyed his leader and flew into action.

Tree branches found him and knocked him backwards. Hashirama let out a battle cry as he attempted to entomb Madara with his technique. But after all the time they'd spent training together, Madara was familiar enough with Hashirama's power to know what was coming. The Sharingan slowed Hashirama down enough for Madara to spring off a branch and avoid the wooden tomb. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of Tajima and Ikema engaged in a deadly battle of fire and earth, astounding in their power.

_These are the most powerful shinobi alive today..._

It was humbling, even for him.

"Madara!" Hashirama shouted just as he landed on the earth and summoned roots from underground.

They rushed at Madara in midair, and he was unable to dodge the attack completely, suffering a laceration to the soft flesh in his left flank through the flimsy gi he wore. Acting on instinct, he gripped the offending root and powered up yet another fire technique, directing it to catch onto the wood. Flames licked at the wood and raced closer to Hashirama, who was too shocked to disengage in time. Fire burned his palms, and Madara used the split second of distraction while Hashirama slammed his palms to the earth to land and put some distance between them.

Blood dripped from Hashirama's fingers, and Madara was suddenly reminded of their first meeting. A green glow indicated that Hashirama was healing the burns, but blood continued to fall. Behind them on the opposite bank, Izuna and Hashirama's brother clashed in a fight almost more vicious than their own.

"Some dream, huh," Hashirama said, panting.

It was wrong, all wrong. This wasn't how he'd wanted this to end. There _would _be an end (this Madara had known all along), but this bloody battle was not how he'd wanted to part ways with the only friend he'd ever had. Lurid Sharingan studied Hashirama.

"You're next in line to lead the Senju, aren't you."

Hashirama nodded as he continued to heal his hands. "And you the Uchiha."

Madara gripped the wound on his side and swallowed the pain. "No. I'm not like you, just getting something because I want it. A base-born soldier like me's gotta work for it."

Shouting could be heard in the distance—reinforcements. Of course, why pass up an opportunity to catch the enemy outnumbered? But Madara wasn't about to let that happen.

"Then work for it," Hashirama said, gritting his teeth against the pain from his burns. "We'll become the strongest and make our dream come true!"

Snarling drew Madara's eyes to Tajima, who'd just taken a slice to the shoulder between the joints of his armor from Ikema's katana. Izuna was wearing out nearby and dripping wet. All the while, the roar of the Nakano River filled Madara's ears like a war drum, fueling the bloodlust and forcing them onwards with the tide.

_Some dream._

"I will," Madara said. "I'll do it, just watch."

"We'll do it together," Hashirama said, approaching him and holding out his healed hand, still bloody and blistering. "Promise me."

Senju Hashirama, his mortal enemy by name and blood. Were they destined to become the same as their leaders, ripping each other apart for no other reason than clan affiliation? This boy who had become his friend, his partner, the measure of his own strength and progress. Could they make their dream a reality?

Madara took Hashirama's hand in his, feeling the blood stick to his palm and mold to every groove and crevice between them. Red met brown and a thousand silent words passed between them. "I promise."

Soon after, Gendoru arrived on the scene along with a small team of elite Uchiha soldiers. The Senju's own forces began to trickle in as well, and Madara knew that if this didn't end now it would turn into a full-scale bloodbath with neither side coming out victorious or without heavy casualties. Just as he thought, Tajima and Ikema called off their soldiers and once again the Nakano River rushed between them. It seemed farther across now than it ever had under the glare of the late afternoon sun. The shimmering waters were blinding to Madara's sensitive eyes.

"This isn't over, Tajima!" Ikema said from across the river, backing up and nursing what looked like a broken arm.

"No, not until my men burn _all _your sons," Tajima said, bleeding through his armor from invisible wounds.

Madara searched for Hashirama's eyes, but the glare from the water was too bright. He knew Tajima was talking about Kawarama, the brother Hashirama had mourned. He didn't know what it was like to lose a brother—Izuna was at his side worse for wear but alive and breathing, eyes narrowed at the Senju boy he'd fought. Hatred, disgust, anger. One look and it was easy to see even in the eyes of his little brother, the same Izuna who'd smiled brighter than a summer day and cried for hours when their mother died. Madara could see it in all their eyes as the Uchiha stared across the river at the enemies they'd been born to kill or die trying.

All over a name.

"_A man's name is his identity; it's everything."_

It was what he'd told Uzumaki Mito so many months ago, and the words haunted him now as he finally understood what they meant.

When he and Izuna had recovered, he wasn't surprised to find out that Tajima wanted to speak with him about a chance to achieve everything he'd ever wanted if he could prove himself. One step at a time, the bastard boy with no name would rise up, and with him the hatred the Uchiha clan shouldered—its pride and joy, a legacy to the world.

"_We'll do it together. Promise me."_

"I promise, Hashirama," Madara said as he was fitted for a new set of armor. The mirror before him reflected the cold fire of the Sharingan and the Uchiha fan newly painted upon the shoulder of his breastplate. Sometimes if he listened hard enough, Madara could still hear the waters of the Nakano River at his back, beating him onwards, ceaseless. War drums played in the background—the enemy awaited.

_I promise._

* * *

_Just a reminder that I'm not changing things I've already written due to canon developments, like Butsuma's real name or Madara and Izuna's unnamed brothers. This chapter concludes the founders' early childhoods, and we'll have a timeskip in the next chapter as well as a new enemy. Thanks to everyone who's been sticking with this story, especially those who review. _


	5. The Princess

Glass Trinity, Chapter 5: The Princess  
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

* * *

Lying low and blending in was Kirigakure Saizō's specialty. He had almost limitless patience so long as there was a clear objective in sight, content to wait for the perfect moment to strike his prey with the assurance of victory. Four years was not that long in the grand scheme of things, but he wasn't getting any younger. Sasuke was still alive and working with the Senju, no less. _Figures. _

Saizō ran a slender finger over the item in his hands, large enough to fill his palm. Purple and beige swirled under his touch as though sentient, the way sand leaves trails in the the wind. While it was not yet dusk, the Land of Water was known for the mists that came in with the tide, hiding the light and blanketing the world in grey. A light breeze rustled the curtains on a nearby window—cool, but not unpleasant. Saizō liked this place. It suited him to be surrounded by shadows. Grey eyes flickered up to his partner.

"Anayama," he said, tapping the object in his hand. "Where did you find this?"

Anayama Kosuke was a large man, nearly twice Saizō's size and broader across the shoulders than any man he'd ever seen. He was the kind of man who was impervious to things like taste and feeling, content to wear his beaten breastplate and only enough boiled leather to cover his midsection at all times, snow or shine. Perhaps it had something to do with the thick hair that coated him like a second skin. But size was no indication of strength, as Saizō knew better than most. Still, Kosuke was loyal and dependable. Without him, the siege of Osaka Castle would have been messier than it was.

"S'pose I found it with my men on our way back east from Wind Country. Kinda funny, actually. One o' the kids picked it up just lyin' there in the sand, said it was shinin' like glass. But I reckon that's no glass, nor some ordinary sand."

Saizō turned the object over in his hand, marvelling at how the purple designs shifted as though trapped in an hourglass. "No, I reckon it's something much more complex. Please send for Lord Sanada. He'll want to see this."

Kosuke nodded and ducked out of the room. The castle was nothing to write home about (certainly not as grand as Osaka Castle had been), but like Saizō himself, it was not the small stature that gave it a reputation for impenetrability. This was the stronghold of Sanada Yukimura, a warlord of the eastern islands collectively known as Water Country. Due to the many irredentist campaigns he was engrossed in, Sanada usually moved between the conquered islands and the mainland to more strategically command the diverse groups of samurai and shinobi under his authority. Saizō, of course, was one of his highest ranking generals and a trusted adviser. After having proven his loyalty at the battle for Osaka Castle, it was a natural step.

Saizō had always preferred to let others handle the politics of power. He cared little for red tape and formalities. His place was on the battlefield, like most shinobi. Perhaps more of Sasuke had rubbed off on him than he cared to admit. Still, when something like this came along Saizō could not help but churn up the political waters a bit just to see when they would run.

The door opened to reveal a short man (too short, some might say) clad in blues and greens. Candlelight made his bald head shine in contrast to the thick beard reaching down to his collarbone. Saizō had to wonder about men who could grow such formidable facial hair and not manage to keep any of it on their head.

"My lord," Saizō said, rising and bowing.

Sanada grunted his own greeting. "Saizō, you have something for me? It better be worth me making the trip here."

Sanada wasn't one for traditional formalities as long as the job got done, but even formalities were a form of communication. Dispose with them entirely and there would be no difference between the foot soldiers and the generals commanding them. It was important to maintain a balance.

"Forgive me, my lord. I thought it best not to leave here with the item lest I draw suspicion."

"You? Please. You're trickier than the damn fog."

Saizō smiled, but said nothing of the slight disguised as a compliment. "This is what I thought you should see."

He handed the mysterious object to his leader, who turned it over in his meaty hands. After a moment he said, "And what the hell am I looking at? I don't care about trophies, you know that."

"This trophy is one I think you'll be interested to hear more about." Saizō moved to a nearby table and poured them some tea, which Sanada accepted with a frown.

"All right. What do you know."

Grey eyes fell upon the shimmering object in Sanada's hands, following the swirling purples like snakes scurrying from the light of day. Saizō's senses had never let him down before, and they weren't about to start now. "That's a scale."

"Must have been a pretty big fish for a scale like this."

"Not a fish...a tanuki."

Sanada set his tea down and beckoned for Saizō to retake his seat. "What are you getting at? You know I hate your damn riddles."

_How boring._

"Very well, I'll get to the point. That scale belongs to a monster of myth and legend known as Shukaku. Do you know the tale?"

"...You mean one of those giant beasts you hear about in children's fairy tales. There were a few of them."

"Nine, to be exact, and each with a corresponding number of tails. They're known as the Bijuu. Legend has it that a man known as the Sage of Six Paths created them from one colossal beast. The Shukaku is a sand demon that takes the form of a giant tanuki and preys on people's dreams."

"Sounds like a load of horse shit to me."

Saizō smiled. "Indeed, that's been the thinking for many hundreds of years. The stories we hear today are old wives' tales. But you know what they say about rumors—they begin with a grain of truth." He reached out swiped a finger across the scale, the surface swirling like so many grains of sand.

Sanada watched him with beady hawk eyes. "Let's just assume for a minute that you're not blowing smoke up my ass. Why this? Why now?"

Saizō leaned back in this chair and steepled his hands, thinking. "I've been wondering the same thing myself, and I'm afraid I don't have much of an answer."

"Much?"

_There is a reason he's never lost a battle, I suppose._

"More of a hunch than anything concrete."

"I don't have all day."

"Strife." The word rolled off Saizo's tongue like butter, so rich and warm. It gave him chills. "The area where this scale was retrieved was the sight of a mass slaughter. It's why I sent a team to investigate in the first place. A small village in the Wind Country had reported a spike in aggravated crimes. Assault, rape, murder, the usual. But here's the interesting part—"

"Oh please, I'm on the edge of my seat," Sanada interrupted.

If he were anyone else, Saizō would have let him know just how much he appreciated being interrupted. But this was his benefactor, his leader, the one person in whose shadow he could carry out an agenda of his choosing. _Speak softly. _

"Of course. Some villagers took it upon themselves to hunt down the perpetrators of such _heinous _crimes, according to the reports. What was supposed to be a clandestine search and destroy mission turned into a manhunt. A bloody one."

Sanada sighed and made to rise from his chair. "I don't have time for this. I have better things to do than listen to gossip. Don't you dare summon me like this again."

"Trouble is, even after the suspected perpetrators were apprehended and the mob went home, the blood continued to spill," Saizō went on, unperturbed. "The next morning, everyone in the village was dead in their beds. They'd died in their sleep."

Sanada paused. "People die."

"In their sleep? Certainly not children or healthy men and women. And the fear in their eyes as they slept wide awake... I'm told it was quite shocking even for some of my most seasoned men."

Sanada was now facing his subordinate once more, intrigued. "They all died in their sleep? That's ridiculous."

"They were bleeding from multiple orifices, but there were no discernible injuries. It was almost as though whatever had killed them had attacked from the inside out."

Sanada put his elbows on his chair's armrests and rested his chin on the backs of his hands, brow furrowed in concentration. "Like a disease of some sort."

"Or a nightmare."

"What are you getting at?"

"If the old wives' tales are anything to go by, the Bijuu are forces of nature that draw their powers from the earth and those living on it. Even the mist outside is one such source of natural energy. Dreams are another."

"You think this Shukaku beast somehow killed all those people in their dreams?"

"When I was a child I would have the most vivid nightmares. Night terrors, my beloved mother used to call them. I'd feel myself dying every night, the pain was so real. And I'd wake in a cold sweat, screaming. Sometimes I could still feel the pain even after I awoke." Saizō moved a hand to his abdomen as though to cover an old wound. "There is power in dreams." He reached for the shimmering scale Sanada still held. "And sometimes the worst of them can cross over into the real world."

A chill swept over Saizō just then, and when he turned to look outside he saw that night had settled in. He rose to close the window, thick mist obscuring everything from sight but the faint glow of lanterns in nearby shop windows. Like red eyes watching him through the shadows.

"How do you even know this scale is from Shukaku? It could be a hoax. Could be that those villagers were all poisoned as part of some pathetic scheme for revenge. Wouldn't be the first time something like that has happened."

"No, it wouldn't, but I'm quite sure." Saizō returned to his seat and held up the scale. "The chakra coming from this thing is unlike any I've ever felt before. It's dark and potent, and it feels nothing like a normal shinobi's. It's not something man could have created."

Sanada was a cruel man when he wanted to be. Saizō had always been drawn to the cruelty in others, and right now he felt like pouring himself another cup of tea as he watched the wheels turning in his leader's head, plotting and planning.

"Saizō," Sanada said slowly. "Do you still have those night terrors? I can't imagine a man as twisted as you being afraid of anything natural."

It was even better when he asked for help.

"I do," Saizō said, taking a sip of his tea. "But I've learned how to control my nightmares. The trick is to seek them out, not run from them."

Sanada stood up again, this time with a dark, simmering set to his gaze. "Then what are we waiting for?"

* * *

"Your hair's gotten so long, my lady."

"Yes, quite the hassle, isn't it?"

"Nonsense! I think it's lovely."

Mito watched her reflection in the mirror as her handmaiden combed out the long, red tresses that now reached down to her lower back. It had been at her father's request that she agreed to grow it out, not wanting to argue with him on the practicality of physical beauty—Mito had better things to spend her time thinking about, so she simply agreed without a fuss. But times like this always reignited that old spark of regret at having caved without a fight. Long hair was more trouble than it was worth, in her mind.

At sixteen, more than just Mito's hair had grown. Gone was the awkward little girl still learning how to walk on stick legs (mostly). Most of it was of course due to the natural aging process that had smoothed out most of her angles for gentle curves. But beneath the soft skin lay practiced muscles gained from the extensive training she'd put herself through growing up despite her father's silent disapproval. As long as she never fell behind in her lessons and duties, he could not find a reason to keep her from honing her skills. With Satto as her biggest defender, Mito found enough time to focus on that which she considered truly important.

And then there were nights like this one.

"Is something the matter? You look a little down," the handmaiden said as she wove Mito's hair around an ivory comb inlaid with gold.

"Lena, you're too perceptive for your own good, you know that?"

Lena had been Mito's personal handmaiden for a couple years now. Unlike Mito, Lena had the option to keep her black hair short and tied back at all times. Possessed of a quiet strength only the most helpless looking women could grasp, Mito had learned to see the indomitable spirit hidden behind glowing olive skin and brown doe eyes. Native islanders may not have looked imposing, but they knew how to adapt and survive in this harsh land better than anyone.

Since the founding of Uzushiogakure, native inhabitants had trickled in from around the Whirlpool Islands seeking protection from the feudal lord's samurai soldiers in return for labor. It was no secret that the feudal lord let his soldiers go about their business while turning a blind eye so long as they served him well. It was deplorable, in Mito's mind, and she'd made her concerns clear to her father time and again. Always eager to have more hands working to build this new village into something great, Ensui welcomed most of them and employed them. They were hard working and rarely complained.

Lena, about five years Mito's senior, knew everything there was to know about being a lady despite her common birth. It was her passion to excel in the home, and she'd saved Mito a world of embarrassment when she fell behind in her lessons on more than one occasion. Lena was the perfect ally to have in her situation.

"One of us has to make sure you at least look the part of a demure princess," Lena said with a smile.

Mito's true passions and interest were no secret to Lena, as was her distaste for all things related to the formalities of court. Politics were dirty, and yet the nobles insisted on primping and perfuming it with lavish dinners, beautiful kimono, and enough wine to drown in. It was despicable, but it was the way things were. Mito had learned to don her mask well over the years.

"It's not the worst thing that could happen, I suppose," Mito said as Lena beckoned her to stand for dressing. Tonight's attire would be a deep blue silk with a white obi. Wave patterns cascaded down the right breast all the way to the floor, looping into whirlpools with black eyes at the centers. Mito traced one with a finger, marveling at how realistic it looked. But like the whirlpools themselves, there was no seeing to the bottom of these painted cousins.

"Tonight your lord father is hosting the Uchiha, is that right? I remember you telling me they're a family of strong shinobi, if I'm not mistaken."

Mito's thoughts drifted to time long past. There was no way Madara would be here tonight—it was a dinner for the leaders of the clan only. She hadn't forgotten his promise to become something great, a leader, but having lived the life of a noble herself, Mito wasn't holding out hope that change would come so quickly. Simply wanting something to be did not guarantee that it would come true. And so, she resigned herself to an evening of stale conversation with men more concerned about how deep they could cut than how much they could do to change the terrible ways of the world. The Uchiha thrived on blood, if their reputation was anything to go by. Mito was not looking forward to tonight.

"I wish I could be like you," Mito said, watching her reflection in the mirror. "You have no cares in the world aside from your job. It must be nice to be who you want to be."

Lena tightened Mito's obi with a little more force than was necessary. "My lady, you don't know what you're saying. You have been born into a life of privilege—"

"Yes, and it's exactly _that_ that I can't stand," Mito said, taking Lena's wrists in her hands. "I live in a box that's been built and sealed up tight by my father, among others. I don't have the freedom you have."

Lena suddenly frosted over, all good humor gone from her expression. "Lady Mito," she said. "You're not like me. You have a chance to make a difference because people will listen to you. If anyone can change the wrongs of this world, _you _can. Don't you see that?"

"...You're wrong. I'm trapped. My father wants me to marry. That's all I'm good for."

Lena shook her head. "You have so much power. I only wish you could learn how to use it properly. And I don't mean those tea ceremonies your father wants you to do every morning, as lovely as they are."

Frustration melted away to be replaced with laughter. It was relaxing to talk to Lena like this sometimes. At least she had someone to talk to. Still, talking never did anything for anyone. No matter how powerful Mito became, her destiny would not change. It was her curse.

"I should be going soon," Mito said. "Father will be expecting me."

Lena nodded. "Yes, my lady." She opened a small container of makeup and dabbed a bit with a brush, spreading it upon Mito's lips. "There, beautiful as always."

Mito thanked her politely. She exited her room with somber finality, bracing herself for another dinner rife with formalities she thought unnecessary and leers from men older than her father. It was the way things were, the rules of the game. The trick was to see past them to what truly mattered. Tonight, the Uchiha were here to discuss an upcoming campaign for which the feudal lord had recruited them. It would be prudent for Mito, a seemingly harmless female with no knowledge of the real world, to discern any potential causes for worry or compromise. The Uzumaki were a neutral party, but the Uchiha were heavily partial. Delicacy was of the essence.

Making her way down the winding corridors of the main house, Mito kept her eyes steadfastly ahead as Lena followed her. They did not speak. Torches lit the stone hallways, shadows dancing around her as she made her way forward. She reached the dining hall shortly, its high ceilings and warm lighting meant to relax, though Mito felt anything but. The walk across the room to the front where she would be seated among the other nobles felt like a trek. Unescorted, she kept her head held high and dared not look into the crowd of lesser men gathered round lest she catch a lecherous eye and lose her composure.

Ensui took her hand when she reached the head of the room, and she smiled. "Father."

"Mito, over here please," he said, indicating the seat to his right.

It was the seat traditionally reserved for trusted counsel, and Mito had occupied it for some time now. Ensui's daughter would be wed to a powerful man one day, and it was his duty to make sure she was ready to navigate whatever uneven waters awaited her. He trusted her judgment as much as any adviser these days. Lena took her own place at the table behind to keep watch should Mito require assistance at any time. Satto was positioned at Ensui's left.

"Lord Tajima, please allow me to introduce my daughter, Mito."

Ensui gestured to an older man across the table. He was attractive in a rugged sort of way for an older man. His scars gave him character, Mito decided. She wondered how many people he'd killed in his time. None of this showed on her face, however, as she held out a delicate hand for him to take, her kimono sleeve barely revealing the flesh of her wrist.

"Uchiha Tajima at your service, my lady."

Mito dipped her head in a show of respect as he kissed her hand. "My lord, I trust your journey here was a pleasant one."

Tajima smirked and the small scar bisecting the left side of his mouth crinkled. "It was, my lady. And allow me to introduce the rest of my party. My eldest daughter, Haruka."

He indicated a young woman several years Mito's senior, pretty but severe in demeanor if her cold expression was anything to go by. Mito maintained her warm smile nonetheless.

"My son, Tajitsu."

A young man, plain to the objective eye, grinned with a little too much enthusiasm for Mito's tastes. He was tall and resembled his father somewhat, but he had none of the battle-worn exterior his parent possessed. Too baby-faced to have seen much action.

"And my heir, Madara."

Mito turned to the young boy who would be seated directly across from her, and the perfect mask cracked a little. He'd grown considerably. His hair was longer but still wild, the grey in his eyes more subdued, simmering even. And the rounded face of his early childhood had lost its softness, replaced with an angular, almost jagged appearance that made him look older for his age in the best way possible. Mito found that she'd lost her train of thought briefly as she stared into those depthless eyes she could only remember in some dreams.

"Princess," he said, dipping his head respectfully by way of greeting.

Unlike Tajitsu, Madara's very aura spoke of a hard life. Mito wondered if she leaned in close, would she be able to smell the blood of his enemies? Madara did nothing to indicate he recognized her, but the way his eyes lingered suggested he did. She composed herself with all the grace learned from hours of etiquette lessons.

"My lord," she said, watching him carefully through painted lashes.

A tick of the lips, barely there, but she caught it. So he did remember her. As they were seated, she looked around for his brother, Izuna, if she remembered correctly, but he was absent. As the serving maids poured wine for everyone and Madara settled in, back straight, she had to wonder—where had the lowly soldier in borrowed armor gone?

"Lord Tajima, I wasn't aware you had another son," Ensui said lightly as he gestured for the serving maid not to pour him too much wine.

_He doesn't, _Mito thought to herself. Her father knew it, too. Uchiha Tajima had several children, all but one female. His only son, the one seated two spots down from Mito, was a known lecher and drunk. Indeed, he seemed all too happy to encourage the serving maid to fill his wine cup to the brim.

"Adoptive son," Tajima said. "I took Madara and his brother in when they were young. Promising talent, the both of them. I can't think of anyone better suited to lead my warriors one day."

Ensui smiled good-naturedly, but Mito had to bite her cheek to keep her own smile at bay.

"_One day, I'll lead the Uchiha clan. Together, Izuna and I will reinvent them."_

Looking at Madara now, she felt a strange pride well up inside. He'd done it, just like he said he would. She had no idea how (it was unheard of for a low-born soldier to be elevated to the top like this), but even back then she could tell. There was something about him that made others turn their heads and look.

"A toast, then. To the next generation," Ensui said, raising his glass. "We old men won't live forever. It's comforting to know our children will finish what we've started."

Tajima hesitated for a moment, and suddenly Mito wondered what his true-born son thought about all this. To be passed over for someone who wasn't even blood related was a terrible slight. Tajitsu, whatever his opinion on the matter, seemed rather blase about it for the time being as he stole sips of his wine while waiting for the toast to finish.

_Strange._

"Yes," Tajima agreed. "To the next generation."

Mito smiled again, just like her instructors had taught her. The perfect mask for the perfect lady, always. When she took a sip of her wine, she found Madara watching her over the rim of his own cup, and they locked eyes. In the muted candlelight she thought she detected a flash of red in those dark depths, but she couldn't be sure. Ensui's voice prompted her to look away. Now was a time to play her part, not drift away with her thoughts.

The meal was splendid. Ensui was not one to waste anything, but for such an important guest as the leader of one of the most powerful shinobi clans on the continent, not a single detail was left overlooked. Seven courses of soups, grilled vegetables, and all manner of sea-faring critters were served on plates of hand-painted porcelain. Salted swordfish with lemon; whole snapper; raw cut tuna, octopus, and scallops; and roasted potatoes with rosemary. Uzushiogakure was an island nation, after all. The wine, of course, flowed in a steady stream.

"The campaign shouldn't be anything too difficult," Tajima said after a bite of scallop. "We're to quell insurgency in the eastern Fire Country. My men know the land well."

Ensui nodded. "Very good, very good. Lord Uesugi will be pleased with a swift reconciliation, I'm sure. You'll have my elite guard under your command led by General Uzumaki Satto." Ensui indicated Satto seated to his left.

"I look forward to working with you, my lord," Satto said.

The feudal lord with control over both Whirlpool and most of the Fire Country, Uesugi Kenshin, had called upon the Uzumaki to quell an insurgency on the mainland. As part of the deal to serve the feudal lord in return for the land to settle Uzushiogakure, the Uzumaki were obliged to cooperate. However, hand-to-hand combat was not their specialty. As such, Uesugi decided to call in the services of soldiers more familiar with warfare.

"I'm curious, though," Satto said. "Lord Uesugi, when we last spoke with him, seemed unclear about the cause of the conflict."

Tajima took a sip of his wine, the scar on his lip crinkling again as he smirked. "Does it matter? They're digging their own grave, whoever they are."

Mito listened intently even as she refilled the glasses of the men around her. It seemed the Uchiha made no secret of their battle lust. It didn't escape her notice that Haruka was content to not be attentive to the others despite the expectations of their gender. She looked like she would rather be anywhere but here, but made no effort to conceal it like Mito did. A part of Mito envied that, but she said nothing.

When Mito raised the wine bottle to Madara's cup, he touched her hand to stay it.

"None for me," he said.

His touch was cold but not unpleasant, and they stayed that way, suspended, for a few moments.

"Of course," Mito said softly.

"I'll take some more," Tajitsu said.

Mito immediately pulled away from Madara and obliged his adoptive brother. She didn't notice how Tajitsu's eyes lingered on Madara instead of the drink he was so fond of.

"Your daughter is lovely," Tajima said. "Is she promised?"

Mito reclaimed her seat and tried to ignore the spike of anger at being talked about as though she were not present. Why did men insist upon ignoring women when they disdained the same behavior directed at them?

"Not currently, but there's time," Ensui said, the pride in his voice not lost on his dinner guests. "She's barely sixteen."

"She's an age with Madara, then," Tajima said. "If he wasn't betrothed to Haruka, I might be tempted to make you an offer."

"Father, please," Haruka said, her smile tight-lipped.

It was meant as a compliment, and Mito had no trouble blushing, but not out of modesty. "My lord is kind," she said, remembering her manners despite the tickle of resentment.

"Yes," Ensui agreed. "I would consider myself a lucky man to marry Mito to a lad as upstanding as your son."

"Well, perhaps after the campaign we could work something out. My other son, Tajitsu, isn't promised to anyone."

Ensui smiled and thanked Tajima for his consideration of their small clan, but Mito felt a little queasy at the talk of her future without a single word of consideration for her own feelings.

_Silly girl. Get your head out of the clouds._

This was one game she'd known she would lose from the beginning no matter how well she played her cards.

"Princess," Madara said suddenly, drawing Mito out of her thoughts. "Will you be joining us on the campaign?"

The abrupt change of topic was a welcome one for Mito, even if she knew her father would not approve.

"You flatter us," Ensui spoke up. "But my daughter will—"

"It would benefit me greatly to have her join us. My lady's expertise is unrivaled for her age," Satto interrupted.

Ensui was never one to lose his temper in public or so much as raise his voice, but Mito knew where to look. He was not pleased by this rather gross breach of rank and station. Still, she was both thrilled and a little shocked that Satto would make the case public. They'd spoken about it already and she was eager to join the campaign, but she wasn't holding out hope. Ensui would prefer to see her safe at home pouring wine and entertaining guests. She didn't blame him, but it didn't make her any less upset.

"General, we'll discuss this later," Ensui said.

"The perfect lady and a soldier, too," Haruka said, leaning forward on her elbows and watching Mito with dark eyes that seemed to glitter with unspoken thoughts. "You're quite the full package."

Mito didn't know why, but she didn't think that was a compliment. "I wouldn't say full package, but I've had very good teachers, if that's what you mean."

Haruka smiled, and Mito wondered if she'd done something right. This woman was hard to get a reading on.

"Ladies, ladies, no need to start the fight early," Tajitsu said, biting off a piece of bread.

"You won't even _be_ fighting," Haruka said. "Why do you think Father passed you over for Madara as his heir?"

A short silence ensued, and Mito thought Madara would resent that comment from the woman to whom he was supposedly engaged to be married. He gave no indication of his feelings on the matter, however.

"Father," she said. "You'll be remaining here in the village to oversee our domestic affairs. General Satto is a brilliant military strategist and fighter, but with all due respect he doesn't represent your political interests. Allow me to participate in the campaign. I'll be your liaison with Lord Uesugi and give you a full report of the activities. Isn't that why you've been including me in your political agenda thus far?"

Ensui would be having a talk with her later about speaking so freely before outsiders, but Mito knew which buttons to push with him to get what she wanted. The fact that she'd done it in front of their guests only added to the pressure.

"Impressive. I daresay you would be more effective at a negotiation table than some of my advisers," Tajima said.

Ensui did not look pleased despite the praise to his only daughter. Still, he had no other option. If he backed down now, he would appear to be standing in the way of the campaign's success. "Very well. I'll allow you participate in the campaign. You'll be under General Satto's direct supervision, do I make myself clear?"

Mito dipped her head respectfully, trying to hide the smile that threatened to bloom. "Yes, Father. Thank you."

"Still, the battlefield is a dangerous place for men and women alike," Tajima said, expression unreadable. "Accidents happen."

Mito fixed him with a hard look. She'd gotten the same reaction a thousand times before. "Then I'll count myself lucky to have the best of the noble Uchiha clan there to ensure they don't happen this time."

Tajima studied her for a moment before smirking and raising his glass. "To the next generation, indeed. I look forward to working with you and yours."

Everyone raised their glasses and Mito caught Satto's eye as he winked at her. She bit back the urge to laugh happily, settling instead for her usual peaceful smile, superficially pleasing in appearance. Conversation continued informally with talk of such things as past accomplishments, upcoming marriage and birth activities, and other polite dinner conversation.

Across the table, Madara caught Mito's eye and held her gaze, but he said nothing. Now that she thought about it, he barely said anything at all, preferring to remain the silent observer. All except for his one comment about her joining the campaign. Mito would have thought little of it, but she found it hard to ignore him even in his silence. Towards the end of the night, he rose to leave early, excusing himself.

"I'd like to speak with Izuna," he explained to Tajima.

Mito watched as Madara's adoptive father put a hand on his shoulder, a noted sign of affection. Something about it seemed strange to her, but she couldn't place what that was.

"I'll see you early tomorrow morning. I have some items to go over with you," Tajima said.

Madara bowed, and a young servant gestured for him to follow to the room he'd been assigned. Madara had to walk around the table past Mito, and when he did he let his hand brush the edge of the table. It was fast enough to go unnoticed, but Mito stared at the object he'd left there for her.

A seashell, one all too familiar even after all these years.

She turned to watch him go but he did not so much as spare her a glance. Quickly, before someone else could see, she pocketed the tiny shell within the heavy folds of her kimono. It was another ten minutes before she was able to excuse herself, claiming to be tired. No one questioned her early retirement, but her father reminded her that they would have a talk later. She agreed and bade the table goodnight, following Lena out of the dining hall and back to her own chambers.

* * *

It wasn't the first time Mito had snuck out of her room. Even in the soft sleeping yukata Lena had dressed her in for bed, she was able to climb out the window without a sound, making sure to take Madara's seashell with her. Outside the air was heavy with a thin fog that had rolled in with the evening tide, crisp and fresh. The paper lanterns strung down the various walkways were blurry through the mist, giving the place an otherworldly look. Mito tied up her too-long hair in a messy bun, wishing yet again that it was short like it used to be when she was a child and things like men's opinions of her physical appeal mattered little.

She had no idea where she would find Madara, but she knew he would be waiting for her somewhere. What else could the seashell mean? He remembered her, just as she remembered him. And somehow, that thought filled her with a new confidence. She never would have spoken so forcefully to her father like she had tonight if not for Madara's questioning. Why? She didn't even know him. And yet, here she was stealing through the shadows of her family's vast garden villa in search of a boy she'd met as a child. She could have laughed at how stupid it all sounded.

A fork in the road caused her to slow. Either she could go left through a series of red Torii to the sea, or she could go right through a natural Ginkgo tree tunnel lined with red paper lanterns. If she looked up, she could make out a few hard-working stars that managed to shine through the thick, golden branches. Mito decided to take the tunnel.

Walking slowly, she played with the seashell in her pocket. How to find him? He was here somewhere, he had to be. The distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shores of her country made Mito pause, a light breeze pulling wisps of red from the bun in her hair. She walked over the fallen Ginkgo leaves to a narrow opening between the tree trunks, eyes searching for the water.

"Uzumaki Mito," a voice said from somewhere behind her.

Mito froze but didn't turn. Under the quiet cover of a lantern-lit night, his voice was softer, more rich than deep as it had sounded in the dining hall. She gripped the seashell harder and turned to face him.

"Uchiha Madara," she said.

He stood before her in casual night wear, as though he, too, had snuck out to be here. It was a ludicrous thought. Madara was an adult male perfectly capable of handling himself, she assumed. There would be no handmaidens keeping watch over his door. Or his window, if he'd chosen a similar path here as her. Mito took the opportunity to study the changes she'd previously noted only in passing at dinner. He was taller than her, but of average height for a man his age. The mane of black hair reached just past his shoulders, definitely longer than it had been when they were twelve. Aside from the obvious growth that had cut away all the softness of childhood, he was nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the eyes. They glowed with the same red glare as the lanterns above.

Remembering herself, Mito produced the seashell he'd given her and held it out. She tapped it with a finger, a quick transfer of chakra, and a series of sentient, black runes poured from the mouth. In a matter of seconds, the tantō she'd sealed within the shell had materialized in her free hand. "I told you I'd give it back," she said, holding out the tantō for him to take.

Madara approached, his eyes never leaving hers until they were only a foot apart. Carefully, he took the tantō from her by the hilt and turned it over, examining it for imperfections or other corruption. Perhaps he found none because he slipped it up the sleeve of his yukata. Mito still held the shell, and he gently used a hand to close her fingers around it.

"Keep it," he said. "Every sword needs a scabbard."

It had been so long and she barely knew him and here they were. She'd wondered if this moment would ever come, if he would ever achieve the dream he'd confided in her that day on the beach so many years ago. Mito smiled.

"Congratulations...my lord." She added the formality just to see his reaction.

He blinked and the Sharingan faded. Gone was the eerie glow of a man who'd grown up without her. They were back on the beach and twelve years old again.

"I've worked hard for this," Madara said finally. "I'm not there yet."

Mito shook her head. "I knew you would do it."

There was so much to say that she didn't know quite where to start. Luckily, Madara chose for her.

"That trick with the shell won't do much good on the battlefield, you know. I hope you're as good with a sword as you are with your words."

Mito felt a little embarrassed by the teasing. "I shouldn't have spoken to my father that way. Not very becoming of a princess, I guess."

"At least you looked the part this time."

Mito covered her smile to stop the laugh that wanted to spill. "Those kimono are so cumbersome. If you knew what it was like, how much time it takes just to get it all on, you'd find it pretty ridiculous, too."

"I don't doubt it." He smiled faintly.

Footsteps sounded, approaching from the direction Mito had come originally. She tensed and Madara turned to peer through the gloom. It was too soon, too early to say goodnight. They'd only just gotten here! Mito wasn't ready to let him go without getting her fill of conversation. Without hesitating, she took Madara's hand in hers and dragged him deeper down the Ginkgo tree tunnel at a jog.

"Come on!" she whispered.

He followed without a fight, and they passed by lantern after lantern as they neared the end of the tunnel. Once through, Mito veered down a narrow path to the left that led to the surrounding hills overlooking Uzushiogakure. Aside from the sea, it was a place she sought reprieve from the life of a lady and her duties in court. She released him when they'd gone far enough.

"No one comes out here at this time of night," she said, turning to face the village.

Above, thousands upon thousands of stars twinkled brightly enough to bathe the grassy hills in pale light despite the meager crescent moon. Uzushiogakure glowed in the distance, soft orange lights in the windows of children as their mothers sang them to sleep, or looking in on friends having a last drink before bed. She smiled, panting a little from the exertion.

"I love this place," she said, a little breathless.

The sea breeze was stronger here, and it blew her hair gently. It was then that she realized it was loose and long. The tie holding her bun in must have fallen out during their flight, and rivers of red fell about her shoulders and back. She didn't have another tie, so she would have to suffer for now.

"Your hair's longer than it used to be," Madara said, sitting down on the grassy earth and eyeing the long tresses.

"So is yours," she fired back, hesitating a moment before taking a seat next to him. "A lot's changed, actually."

He was silent, and Mito felt the urge to fill the space between them. She withdrew the seashell that had previously concealed Madara's dagger and played with it. Perhaps the best place to start would be the beginning.

"He called you his son," she said, eyes still gazing out over her village. She left the question unspoken for him to answer or leave alone, should he so choose.

"He didn't have one before Izuna and me."

"...What about Tajitsu?"

Madara chuckled, but there was nothing humorous about it. "I'm sure you can see how he's no fit son for an Uchiha."

Having spoken only a few words to Tajitsu, she couldn't say she knew him well. But he was an easy hand to read. No true leader would ever love his drink more than his people, and given Haruka's commentary at dinner, Mito suspected the lack of scars on his face wasn't due to his unparalleled skills on the battlefield. A part of her was almost surprised Tajima had brought him along, the older son he'd clearly disinherited in favor of a low-born soldier, but tradition was like ripe bamboo—damn near impossible to bend.

"How," Mito began, unsure if this was a direction he would be comfortable going in. "...How did you do it?"

"Hard work and a lot of blood. Tajima needed an heir and I needed an in."

It didn't add up. From what Mito knew of the Uchiha clan, they were rigid and old-fashioned on their best days. How could Madara, born without so much as the right to the family name, have risen to the throne in just four years? She was missing something important.

"I suppose marrying Haruka will be the icing on the cake once Tajima passes," she said.

Madara turned to look at her, eyes hard. "My father isn't about to roll over and die."

_Ah._

"You consider him family, don't you?" Mito held up a hand to keep him from coming too close. "I think that's wonderful. When I met you and Izuna, you looked like you only had each other in the world. And now, well, it's not just the two of you anymore. I'm happy for you."

Whatever anger Madara was feeling abated after a moment and he backed down. They returned to watching the Uzushiogakure, and Mito felt a little lighter.

"A lot's changed," he said, echoing her words from earlier.

Mito's eyes fell upon the small, pink seashell in her hand that he'd kept with him all these years. "Change is good."

"Things will keep changing, too. One day, this will all look different."

"What do you mean?"

Madara was silent for a moment, and she wondered what he could be thinking. "This world is ours for the taking. We can reinvent it any way we want. Make it better, turn dreams into reality. The possibilities are endless."

Mito had the feeling he was telling her something, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was. He'd revealed quite a bit already, and she didn't want to push her luck. "We... Are you including me in this dream world, then?" she said with a smile.

When he looked at her again, his eyes were depthless and unreadable. She had the most uncanny urge to reach for him, but held back. It wouldn't be appropriate.

"Do you want to be?"

Sea breeze fluttered Mito's hair, tickling her cheeks and the back of her neck as she stared back at Madara with wide eyes. It was the same feeling she'd gotten during their first meeting, like he truly saw her beyond all the beautiful silks and satins to the girl underneath. He called her a princess but had never once treated her like one.

"I'd like to see it one day. More than anything."

He rose and offered her his hand, which she took. Under the soft starlight, she almost felt like they were the only two people in the world. The thought made her heart beat a little faster.

"You should sleep. We have an early morning tomorrow."

Irritation flared at his words. She was no child. "So should you. I bet you're grumpy in the mornings."

Madara laughed a little but said nothing. Mito didn't protest as he pulled her back toward the village, his hand in hers.

* * *

_Reviews are love, and I love getting them! : )_


End file.
